Home from the Sea
by Louise Hargadon
Summary: Gordon Tracy has three rules where affairs of the heart are concerned. She unwittingly made him break all of them. He just hoped she was worth it. Gordon/OC multi-chapter. Finally updated after a far-too-long hiatus!
1. Chapter One - The Beginning

_**A/N: **__ What? A Thunderbirds multi-chapter? We all know how completely off-topic my other two went! Is this wise? Well, probably not. But I've done Scott, Virgil and Jeff (to anyone who didn't read __Dilemma__ or __Last to Know__... well, you didn't really miss anything - but those of you who did...! We had some times, didn't we?! Remember Virgil in the coma and Jeff's Eric Morecambe impressions?! Ah! Memories. The mega-lulz. Chortle!) and it's only fair that I do Gordon. As it were. _

_My commitment skills aren't the best, I warn you now - but I will do my darndest to keep up with this. I do love writing Gordon more than anyone else in the whole world though, so I reckon eventually I'll get this finished and it might even hold to some vague semblance of plot. Who the hell knows? _

_For anyone who read any of __Gordon's English Escapades__ - yes, this is a bit of a rejig, with names changed to protect the guilty. I think they deserved their own story told properly. I got really rather attached to their dynamic._

_Dedicated with much love to the other Gordon Groupies out there, and to my non-Groupie chums amongst the Jezabels, Vixens and Sirens who keep me motivated and encouraged with all their kind words of awesomeness - you all know who you are. Also, with significant cap-doffing to __**David Graham**__ who, when you think about it - basically WAS Thunderbirds._

_**Disclaimer: **__ I don't own Thunderbirds. I certainly don't own Gordon. I own my OC though. I promise she won't ruffle anyone too much. There may be teeth marks in Gordon's shoulders though... The title is from __**Robert Louis Stevenson**__'s self-written epitaph, __Requiem__. The cover photo is a screencap from the ungodly hot first rescue in Operation Crash Dive. Thanks very much for letting me use it, **Tikatu**!_

**Home from the Sea**

**Chapter One - The Beginning**

**International WASP Conference, Hotel di Buono - Rome, 2065**

Gordon had broken the holy trinity of golden rules.

He'd stopped, he'd turned and he'd looked at her.

_Dammit._

He didn't even know why he did it. He never stopped. He never looked back. On occasions such as this - not that they happened nearly as often as he pretended they did - he always made sure his clothes were conveniently located so he could get up, pull his jeans on, grab the rest of his stuff and sneak out without disturbing anyone. He shouldn't have looked. He never looked back. They were the rules.

Scott had once told him, "If you look at them sleeping, you run the risk of getting attached to them. You run the risk of someone getting hurt - and although you don't want it to be you, you'd feel even worse if it was her." Gordon had made such a great job of abiding by those rules that he never even asked for names any more.

When a guy was a member of a secret organisation that was hell-bent on saving the world at any cost, he couldn't really allow space for personal relationships. Gordon wasn't the biggest fan of the one-night stand. It wasn't what he was about. He knew it made him look like the bad guy, but he didn't see what other choice he had. Not if he wanted any kind of attempt at a normal life now and again, anyway.

He liked this one, though. She seemed to have taken a lot of chasing, although somehow they both knew they'd end up in the same bed that night. It was like a game of cat and mouse but he suddenly realised that perhaps he'd been the mouse all along. She was one of the WASP secretaries from the London Headquarters and was older than him by quite a few years. She was just as funny as he was and she was almost as sharp. They seemed like a good match. It didn't matter. He couldn't get attached to her, no matter how much he liked her. In fact, the whole reason he shouldn't get attached to her was because he liked her. He was doing her a favour, if anything. Whatever her name was. Rebecca. Rosie. Roxy. Something beginning with R. Maybe. He couldn't remember. It was on her name badge, wherever that was now. He never thought that a boring old WASP conference could be nearly so much fun.

"Rookie error," he scolded himself, letting out a slightly too loud sigh of consternation. On reflection, perhaps he subconsciously wanted to wake her up. Whether he wanted to or not at that moment, that's exactly what happened. She rolled over, opened one eye and he blushed guiltily. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't let me stop you," she told him, sleepily.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. She shook her head slightly and he could see her shoulders shrugging under the bedclothes.

"It's fine. I like coming round in peace. Go and get a coffee," she answered. He paused.

"I... won't be coming back," he said, even though it was completely obvious that he was in the middle of bailing out on her. He didn't know why he felt he owed her an explanation. She sat up and looked at him, making him feel as though she could see right through him. She didn't frown and she didn't complain, she just smiled, almost imperceptibly, and raised an eyebrow at him. Resting her elbows on her hunched-up knees, she ran her fingers through her hair and rested her chin in her hands.

"What do you want, a gold watch for eight hours' dedicated service?" she asked, coolly. He grinned at her.

"It's been fun," he told her. "I... I never get to say that. But it has." She grinned back at him and he suddenly thought that he'd love to see that smile again more than anything. He really shouldn't have looked back.

"It has. Now go on, sod off," she retorted with a laugh, laying back down and firmly placing a pillow over her face to block out the sunlight. The right side of his mouth curled into a dimpled half-smile.

"You won't cry?" he asked, only half-teasing her. She laughed again.

"I'm sure I'll live, kiddo," she answered in a muffled voice before dramatically throwing the pillow onto the floor. "Go on, go before your mother calls you, wondering where you've been!" she ordered.

Gordon paused. Nobody had even referred to his mother in... a long time. He didn't remember her, really, not like Virgil and Scott did. It still always caught him unawares whenever the idea of her was brought up and he never knew if it would upset him or not for someone to mention her. Of course, how was the girl to know he didn't have a mother any more? It wasn't her fault. She didn't need to know. Why was he still with her? She'd told him to go - twice!

She wasn't the best looking girl he'd ever met. She was a little taller than he was, but most people were, so that didn't bother him. She didn't have a perfect figure by any stretch of the imagination, she was a little clumsy and she'd succeeded in drinking most of his aquanaut buddies under the table the previous night. She swore like a sailor, made the dirtiest jokes he'd ever heard in his life and seemed to be utterly self-conscious and the life and soul of the party all at the same time. He really didn't know what to make of her, but he knew that he liked her. He liked her enough to look back, anyway.

"Rachel!" he declared suddenly, as he finally remembered her name.

"Yes, lovely boy with the incredible chest?" she replied, a little confused. Gordon was slightly taken aback. He always assumed that _they_ remembered _his_ name. Besides, nobody had called him a 'boy' in years! Who was this woman? Wait - did she really think he had an incredible chest?

"Umm. Gordon," he supplied. She burst out laughing.

"_Gordon_?! Who, under the age of seventy, is called Gordon?!" she asked. He shrugged, looked down at the carpet and glanced back up at her shyly, biting his lower lip.

"I am," he answered. She chuckled.

"Ask a stupid question," she muttered, talking to herself more than to Gordon. "What did you want to ask me, Gordon?" Gordon hadn't actually wanted to ask her anything, he'd just blurted her name out. He had to think of something to ask her, and in his haste to fill the silence with words, he uttered four words he knew he should never have spoken.

"Can I call you?"

The silence was deafening. He heard his heart thundering in his chest, like an army of drummers battering the hell out of twenty-six inch bass drums. He shouldn't have said it, but he couldn't take it back now. He didn't even think he wanted to take it back. He couldn't stop looking at her. The more he looked at her, the better looking she got and the more he ached to stay with her. This was ridiculous. She was just a girl, for God's sake! All he'd done was take one little look back, it didn't mean he had to stay. The rules weren't that you _had_ to stay if you looked back, it meant you could still keep going. If you still wanted to go, that is. He still had time to run. She'd told him to go. Twice. He had no reason to be there, unless he wanted to be. He had no reason to ask for her phone number, unless he wanted to call her. Which would make things very awkward. Unless she was worth the risk.

Rachel frowned at him. "You're not very good at sneaking out in the morning, are you?" she asked him. Gordon smiled ruefully and let out a breath of embarrassed laughter.

"I'm usually a hell of a lot better at it than this," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. There was no point in hiding how ungainly he felt. Something told him she would've seen through an act of nonchalance anyway. She shot him another look and he felt a little exposed, due to far more than the fact he still hadn't put his shirt on, and he wasn't altogether convinced that he didn't like that feeling.

"You don't have to ask me for my number to be polite, you know," she assured him.

"I'm not being polite," he answered.

"If you want to go, nobody's stopping you. Don't stay on my account."

"I'm not. Maybe I don't want to go," he suggested, caught in some weird emotion between tenacity and bewilderment.

"Fine, then, stay, it makes no difference to me," she answered, carelessly.

"Would you mind if I stayed?" he asked. This really wasn't how it happened in the movies, the woman was supposed to ask the man to stay and he was supposed to be all aloof and cool. He should have stormed over to the bed and said in his most seductive tone, "Hey, lady, I'm staying - assume the position and brace yourself!" But his knees were shaking far too much for all of that nonsense and he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't going to be sick.

"I'd love it if you stayed, you're extremely comfortable as a pillow and stupendous in all other respects," she replied, so honestly and unflinchingly that his eyes widened in surprise. He blushed violently and grinned to himself happily. "But I'll get my coffee a lot sooner if you go, so please. Make your mind up," she finished, smiling softly at the expression on his face.

Gordon paused before answering, so many different thoughts racing through his mind so fast that he could barely cling onto one of them. His head told him to go. His heart told him it'd be kindest to leave - but his gut had other ideas entirely. Finally, he cleared his throat and met her gaze with a steely look of determination which, he noted to his delight, made her blush a little.

"I can't give you a relationship," he blurted out. She looked puzzled.

"Who says I want one?" she asked, frowning.

"I... shouldn't still be here," he told her, desperately. She chuckled.

"I'm definitely not keeping you captive," she pointed out. He shook his head.

"You are. I don't even know how you're doing it, but you are. Every time I look at you, all I want to do is get back in there with you and not leave the room again," he told her, truthfully. Rachel's face lit up momentarily before she cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair again to regain her composure. Gordon's shoulders dropped and he sighed heavily. "I really should go," he finished, his face and voice both resigned to the idea that he had definitely outstayed his welcome, even though he really hoped he hadn't. She nodded and shrugged.

"Okay then," she replied, cheerfully. He waited for a moment, not sure if she'd understood what he'd just said to her.

"I should go," he repeated. She frowned slightly.

"I know, you just said so," she reminded him.

"I should. But I... I think I need to stay with you."

"You _need_ to? Why?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to leave," he told her. "I don't like the idea of not seeing you ever again. I'm not ready for it."

"You want to see me again, but you don't want a relationship?" Rachel asked. When she put it like that, it made him sound like even more of an asshole than if he'd just left before she'd woken up. Still. He couldn't exactly argue with her, she'd summed it up pretty well.

"I kinda want it all, don't I?" he asked, pinching his lips together in a wry grin.

"You certainly do," she answered, her voice stern but her eyes gleaming with mischief. Gordon sighed. He'd never felt more awkward in his life, but he still didn't want to leave. He didn't want to miss anything and he was pretty sure that if he left now, the thing he'd miss most of all would be her.

"It's a lot to ask," he admitted. She nodded.

"It certainly is," she agreed, her voice still stern. Gordon looked at her and he could see she was toying with him. Cat and mouse again. He didn't mind, in fact he liked it almost as much as what he knew was about to happen. Even though he was going to lose, he still felt like he was going to win.

"You're enjoying watching me squirm, aren't you?" he asked. She grinned briefly at him.

"I've not had this much fun in years," she admitted.

"Listen - I may not call often and I may not see you for a while, but if I tell you I'll call you, I mean it. I'm not the nicest guy in the world, but I'm not a liar either," he promised, sincerely. A slow smile took over her face and she nodded her agreement.

"You'd best get your trousers off and get back into bed, then, sunshine," she instructed, grinning impishly at him.


	2. Chapter Two - The Call

**Chapter Two - The Call**

"So how was your trip?" Tin-Tin asked at the breakfast table. Gordon nodded vaguely and helped himself to some scrambled eggs.

"Yeah," he answered, shrugging. "It was okay."

"Okay?" she repeated. "What does 'okay' mean?"

"Just okay, y'know, it wasn't horrible. You gotta have a good time in Rome after all, right?" he pointed out, cramming a full slice of toast into his mouth and hoping it would stop any further conversation.

"Did you meet anyone?" she asked. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He took his time over chewing and swallowing before taking a large swig of coffee and hoped that she would have forgotten by the time he was able to talk again. "Well?" she asked, impatiently. He shot her a look to tell her to be quiet, which she purposely didn't pick up on. "So, you did meet someone then?"

"What is this, Twenty Questions? It was a WASP conference, it's three days of seminars and lectures and boring stuff!" he protested. "Nobody goes to those places to meet people, they go for a city break and to take advantage of the free beer!"

"It was your last WASP conference, you've not seen anyone for nearly six months! Surely you got up to some sort of mischief with the boys?" she asked, completely unfazed by his reaction. He shook his head.

"Nah, the lectures were pretty boring. I lost track of the boys on the last night anyway, I dunno what happened to them. I didn't sleep much," he explained, avoiding the subject as much as he could without actually lying to her.

"I know what that means," a voice piped up. Gordon sighed and looked across the table.

"What does it mean, Grandma?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know her answer. Nobody could ever be too sure of what Grandma had to say next, and while it was one of the many personality traits he was pleased he'd picked up from her, it was also a nerve-wracking trait to be on the receiving end of. Especially on minimal coffee.

"It means 'I acted like a guest at an ancient Roman orgy, but I'm not giving you any details while my grandmother's sat next to you'!" she answered. Gordon grinned at her.

"You're right, Grandma, that's exactly what it means," he answered, reaching across the table and patting her hand affectionately. His grandmother shook her head disparagingly at him.

"You act as though I don't know what sex is, young man," she told him. His heart sank. _'Oh, sweet Jesus - not another story of Grandma's Sexual Exploits?'_ he thought. "If it wasn't for me and your grandfather, you wouldn't be here! We had some times that'd make your eyes water!"

"Grandma, please, I'm trying to eat!" Gordon groaned in protest. Nobody needed to be reminded of that, no matter how fond his grandmother was of saying the most inappropriate things at the best of times.

"We've all been there, we've all done it. Some of us more frequently than others," she added, casting a suspicious glance at Tin-Tin. Tin-Tin opened her mouth to protest her innocence but thought better of it, shrugged and nodded.

"Mother, leave Gordon alone. I'm sure he had a good time in Rome and I'm also sure that he'd much rather leave all of his adventures there. Am I right, son?" Jeff asked. Gordon nodded, feeling a little helpless and wishing everyone would just continue masticating on their eggs and bacon in silence.

"Gee, it's pretty warm. I might go for a swim," he suddenly decided, changing the subject completely and pushing his chair back from the table.

"You've hardly touched your food," his Grandmother pointed out.

"I would've eaten more if certain persons hadn't started talking about their long-lost sex lives!" he answered loftily, shooting his grandmother a wink as he left the table.

"What's that?" Tin-Tin asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to the table. He frowned.

"What's what?" he asked. She stood up, pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up a little and traced her fingers over his upper arm, studying it closely. "Lay off, Tin-Tin, you've got Scott to manhandle!" he protested, wriggling away from her grasp.

"Are those... are they teeth marks?" Tin-Tin asked, incredulously. Gordon stood, rigid, his eyes closed in horror and praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Jeff choked on his coffee, forcing him to excuse himself from the table, and his grandmother almost fell off her chair in surprise.

"Gordon Cooper Tracy!" Grandma began, almost at a loss for words.

"Gotta run. Bye!" he answered quickly, dashing out of the house and dive-bombing into the swimming pool fully clothed. He swam a full length of the pool underwater and leaned on the side of the pool, panting heavily. He ran his hands over his face and shook his head. He couldn't help but think that perhaps moving out to a paradise island in such close proximity of his entire family wasn't such a good idea. Saving the world didn't have to involve this much self-sacrifice, surely?

They'd used Tracy Villa as a holiday home for a few years before finally shipping out together six months earlier after International Rescue was ready to go live. Gordon had enjoyed his time as an aquanaut but, after the hydrofoil crash, had only been returned to light duties - and having to go into work day after day to write reports, crunch numbers and not do anything practical to help was killing him inside. His aquanaut buddies still came to see him as often as they could and they'd go out together after missions, but it was more difficult as there were things that he couldn't tell them, or they couldn't tell him - and there was a world of difference between the administration and front line members of any military style organisation. Politics was rife and Gordon hated it. It was time to leave, and he wasn't sorry at all. He loved the idea of International Rescue and there were no men on earth he trusted more than his father and elder brothers, all level-headed, heroic men who would do anything to save the life of anyone. He knew he would be asked on many occasions to put himself into situations that he may never escape from, but he felt it was worth it, to finally start feeling useful again.

As he had had a great deal of input into the organisation of the last WASP conference and knowing that Rome was a great place for a party, he had asked special permission from the Commanding Officer of his unit to attend, even though the conference wouldn't be taking place until six months after he left the WASPs. To his amazement, his Commanding Officer was more than willing to accommodate him and, consequently, he and his friends had spent months making plans for what they'd do in Rome on their nights off.

Rachel was not part of the plan. He imagined that he hadn't been part of her plans either. All he wanted was a couple of nights out doing a little hellraising with the guys as one final fling before he settled down to life on the Island. The Tracy boys had already embarked upon a dozen missions which had been one hundred percent successful, and all members of International Rescue were feeling rather pleased with themselves, as would any organisation who had a better record of saving lives than the Salvation Army. Gordon had returned from Rome to discover that things had been quiet on the rescue front. Downtime from rescues was a rather dull period of time and, even though he'd been back home less than twelve hours, he couldn't wait to get back out into the great open world again. He really needed to find some way to occupy his time when he wasn't saving lives.

Biting his lower lip thoughtfully, he pulled himself out of the pool and strolled casually back into the house, still dripping wet in his sodden clothes.

"If you get water all over my clean floors, Gordon, I will personally tickle you to death!" Tin-Tin warned him, wagging a finger at him. He grinned at her and stood in the middle of the floor.

"Sorry?" he began, brushing his hands down the front of his t-shirt and getting droplets of water everywhere. "What did you say?" he asked, playfully. She shook her head, wishing she could stay angry with him.

"You wait till I tell Scott!" she threatened. He chuckled and blew her a kiss before heading to his room for a shower.

He sat on the edge of his bed after his shower, before he got dressed again, with his phone in his hand. He decided to call Rachel. He'd promised to call her, after all. A guy couldn't break a promise to someone just because things might get a bit complicated. She knew it was complicated anyway, he'd sort of already said something to that effect, he thought. Perhaps. Anyway. He should call her. He'd promised.

He suddenly stopped himself. What if she was out? What if her husband or her boyfriend answered? He hadn't given the idea that she wasn't married or otherwise engaged any thought until that moment.

He shook his head vigorously. It wasn't ever going to be serious. It didn't matter what their personal circumstances really were, it was just a bit of fun. Wasn't it? She was just a girl. He could handle her. He'd been getting his own way with girls since he was in kindergarten, she was just another. Why was he worrying? That's it. Just a girl. In fact, he didn't need to call her. It wasn't as if he was going to arrange to fly right out to be with her. What did she take him for? No, he'd just play it cool and casual as usual, just say hello, make sure she was okay, be very vague when she asked about seeing him again and then say something to make her laugh before he went. They'd stay friends, they wouldn't see each other for a while but at least he could stay in touch with her. She was a nice girl, after all.

"Nothin' to it," he told himself, confidently, as he dialled her number. He suddenly stopped himself. He'd only been home for a day, maybe it was too soon. No. It was fine. She might think he was keen, but really all he was doing was keeping his promise to call her. He was just getting it out of the way. That's it. He was just doing what he'd said, getting it over with, so he could carry on with the rest of his week not worrying about doing it. That was all. He dialled her number again and tried to ignore his churning stomach as the dial tone rang out for what felt like an eternity.

Eventually, she answered her phone.

"Hello?"

"Rachel?" he checked.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"It's Gordon," he told her. She paused.

"Gordon who?" she asked, cautiously, even though by the tone of her voice Gordon could tell she knew exactly who he was.

"Gordon Tracy. You know, the guy under seventy called Gordon," he reminded her. She giggled.

"Oh! _That _Gordon!" she answered, a beaming smile in her voice. "How can I help?"

"I'll be in London for a few days soon, I wondered if you'd like to go for dinner?" he heard himself say. He frowned in confusion. _'No you won't!'_ he thought. She paused for a moment before replying.

"Erm... I'm not sure, where were you thinking?"

"Wherever you like, my treat," he offered.

"Nice one, how about the Savoy?" she joked.

"That's fine, I'll book a table," he answered, seriously.

"What?! I was kidding, you don't... you can't... I couldn't let you even if you could afford-" she spluttered, not sure whether he was calling her bluff or not.

"Fine, how about we just get takeout and take it back to my hotel?" he interrupted, utterly undeterred.

"You've booked somewhere?"

"Not yet."

"Save your money and stay with me," she offered.

"I think I can stretch to a hotel room!"

"I know you weren't asking, I was offering," she told him.

"Why don't I book us somewhere nice and you can come stay with me?" he suggested.

"Somewhere nice? How nice are we talking?"

"Umm... Claridges? That's nice."

"CLARIDGES?!" Rachel squeaked. "That's in Mayfair! I can't even afford to walk down that street, let alone stay there! I reek of poverty!"

"You do not, either! Besides, who asked you to chip in?" he asked.

"You... waitaminute, are you messing with me?" she demanded, suspiciously.

"Let's stay there, it'll be great, they've got butler service and everything in the suites, my brother and I stayed there about five years ago for a weekend after the Olympics. They have their own chocolates and they're amazing, it's like they make your mouth go into orgasm," he babbled. He shook his head in despair. Why did he have to say 'orgasm'?

"The idea of orgasmic chocolate sounds tempting enough on its own, but... I don't know. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Gordon," she told him, doubtfully. He couldn't agree with her more.

"What isn't?"

"I thought you said you didn't want a relationship?" she reminded him.

"Who says I'm asking for one? I just want to see you, that's all," he answered.

"That's very sweet of you, but... well, can I at least think about it?" she asked.

"Sure. I'll call you back in an hour."

"An hour?"

"Jesus, I dunno how long you want, it's only a hotel!" he told her, impatiently, ignoring the voice in his head that told him to put the phone down and stop begging, it was pathetic.

"It's not only a hotel, it's Claridges," she pointed out. He sighed in frustration.

"Would you rather go to the Berkley?" he asked.

"You're not helping," she answered, wearily.

"C'mon, if it bothers you that much I can book a suite with two rooms and be a gentleman about it," he offered.

"You're not really going to let me have a say in this, are you?" she asked.

"You're not really going to refuse, are you?" he shot back at her. She laughed.

"Tell you what, give me a call next time you're in London and maybe we'll get a coffee or something," she suggested.

"That won't work," he answered, shaking his head. "I'm only coming to London to see you."

"You're what?" she asked, stunned.

"Don't sound so surprised. What else do I want in London?" he reasoned. He rolled his eyes and threw himself back onto his bed. What was he saying? What was actually going on? He'd clearly been possessed by the spirit of someone else who didn't mind throwing his money about on someone he barely knew.

"I don't know. I don't know you well enough," she replied. He nodded. He didn't feel like he knew himself very well either at that exact moment.

"I only want one thing, Rach, and that's you," he told her. He cringed as he heard himself talk. Who even said that outside of cheesy 1980s chick flicks? Not that he'd ever seen any. Except that one time Tin-Tin made him watch Dirty Dancing. He'd spent weeks afterwards going up to John and saying, "Dance with me, Johnny!" breathlessly, flicking imaginary hair over his shoulders.

"Me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Yep. All you have to do is say 'yes', and I know you know _that_ word!" he told her. She cleared her throat awkwardly and he grinned to himself. "That wasn't you being shy, was it?" he teased her.

"Wouldn't you rather just go to a nice cosy pub for a quiet drink?" she suggested, desperately.

"Wouldn't you rather I just poured champagne all over you and slowly licked it off of you in our nice cosy penthouse suite?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, even though she couldn't see him. Rachel let out a shout of laughter which turned into a cough, which quickly disintegrated into a nonsensical babble of half-words in incoherent half-sentences. "Don't tell me you're embarrassed!" he chided her.

"Ha! Erm. Well I mean that's fine by me, but I don't think you'd want to do that," she finally answered, her voice quavering slightly as she tried valiantly to retain her composure.

"Try me."

There was a brief pause while Rachel thought about it. Or at least, while Rachel held her phone at arm's length and did a silent dance of jubilation around her living room.

"All right then, that sounds lovely, thank you. When will you be arriving?" she asked casually.

"When are you free?"

"I suppose I'm not doing anything this weekend," she joked.

"I'll be there on Friday afternoon," he answered. His jaw dropped. No he wouldn't! What if a rescue call came in? His father would shoot him. In the head. Possibly.

"Friday? What the hell are you, some sort of secret millionaire?" she demanded, completely confused.

"Something like that. I'll let you know what time my flight's due in at Heathrow. They'll send a car to take us to the hotel," he told her.

"Oh. Erm. Right. Okay then. So... so what sort of thing should one wear to Claridges?" she inquired, putting on her best upper class voice.

"Well, I've got a Ralph Lauren in my closet that hasn't seen the light of day since God knows when. As for you - I dunno, but I'd suggest something easily removable," he answered. She cleared her throat awkwardly again and giggled. "You really don't like talking about it, do you?" he asked, chuckling at her.

"You know I won't be able to get up to any of that sort of nonsense at a place like that, don't you? I'm very easily intimidated," she replied, completely avoiding the question.

"I don't believe that for a moment. Besides, I can be very persuasive," he assured her. She chuckled.

"I can believe that. Friday then?" she checked.

"Friday. Hey - you won't stand me up, will you?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"You're joking, aren't you? A weekend in one of the most iconic hotels in London - I wouldn't miss that for anything! I'll be there at the airport holding a neon sign with an arrow pointing me out in case you've forgotten what I look like!" she teased him.

"I won't forget, I promise. How could I?" he told her sincerely. "I'll see you then, I guess."

"I guess you will," she answered, putting the phone down without waiting for a goodbye.

Gordon stared at his phone for thirty full seconds in silence. He wasn't sure what he'd just done. All he'd wanted to do was say hello. He didn't know how any of that had just happened. She definitely didn't ask him to go and see her. He offered. No - he'd insisted. She'd told him no, but he'd just pushed and pushed until he'd decided to make a serious dent in his credit card on showing her a good time.

"It's her fault. She's got to be working some sort of subliminal reverse psychology scam on me!" he decided, frowning to himself. He had a good mind to call her back and tell her exactly what he thought of her subliminal reverse psychology scam - except for the fact he wasn't entirely sure she was actually doing anything. He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Women!" he muttered.

He suddenly grinned widely and let out a giggle of excitement. "Women!" he repeated, cheerfully. Walking out of his bedroom, he started whistling a merry tune as he headed back out to the pool.


	3. Chapter Three - The Interrogation

_**A/N: **__ I'd already made a start on writing Chapter Three based at the airport, but it turns out that more of you are interested in exactly how Gordon managed to get round Jeff and wangle another weekend away from the Island. Remember his hysteria in __**Thunderbirds are GO!**__ when Alan and Tin-Tin decided they were going to have a night out as well because everyone else had buggered off to a club? Ay chihuahua! NEVER ask Jefferson for time off! NEVER! _

_Even though it's an unexpected little fly-on-the-wall scene, this is especially for everyone who wanted to know exactly how that whole conversation went down, I really hope you enjoy this face-off 'twixt Gordon and Jeff, including a spot of 'helpful' interference by Grandma. Gotta love that woman._

**Chapter Three - The Interrogation**

"You want to do WHAT?!" Jeff demanded, slamming his fist into his desk. Gordon winced.

"I wouldn't ask, Dad, you know that. This is an emergency," he explained. Jeff bestowed the steely glare on his penultimate son, who could almost feel his blood turning to stone under his gaze.

"You've just come back from three days in Rome! Why do you need to go to London?" Jeff demanded. Gordon failed his arms and flustered as he tried to think of a good enough reason to escape the island for a few days without mentioning Rachel.

"It's... complicated," he offered, lamely. Jeff's frown deepened and if Gordon had been religious he would have crossed himself at that moment.

"Complicated my ass! There's a girl, isn't there?" he realised. Gordon blushed.

"It's not what you think."

"If it isn't what I think, then why can't it wait until next month?" Jeff asked, now raising one eyebrow. Gordon cursed inwardly because he couldn't do the same eyebrow gymnastics.

"Okay, fine, it is what you think, but..."

"You've not done anything stupid?" Jeff pleaded. Gordon frowned, not sure exactly where on the 'Stupid Scale' his father would place Gordon spending the best part of ten thousand dollars on a weekend with an almost complete stranger.

"Define 'stupid'," he requested, cautiously.

"She isn't pregnant, is she?" Jeff asked. Gordon burst out laughing.

"Jesus, Dad, is that the stupidest thing you think I could do?! Give me some credit! We aren't all you!" he answered, giggling helplessly.

"He's got a point there, Jeff," Mrs Tracy chipped in, walking into the room.

"Mother, this is nothing to do with you," Jeff answered, sternly.

"Well, if you hadn't got that girl pregnant in the first place you could've done a lot more with your life. You could've been the first man to lead a successful mission to Mars," his mother told him.

"Mother, 'that girl' was my wife," Jeff sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples gently. "Only you would be scandalised by the idea of me impregnating the woman I was married to!"

"Even so. You've got a cheek to lecture Gordon about impregnating someone!" she retorted.

"The boy hasn't impregnated anyone!" Jeff insisted, gesturing wildly in Gordon's general direction.

"How do you know?"

"Please, can we all stop saying 'impregnate'?" Gordon pleaded, feeling a little queasy.

"You're the one trying to get a weekend away from the Island so you can get your rocks off with an unknown hussy!" his grandmother told him sternly.

"I thought you were on my side?" Gordon protested. His grandmother shook her head.

"When will you ever learn, Gordon? I'm on my side!" she answered, wearily.

"Anyway, she isn't a hussy," Gordon muttered, feeling a little sulky.

"Aha! So there is a girl!" his grandmother replied, snapping her fingers as if she'd caught him out in her cross-examination.

"She's a woman," he corrected her. His grandmother gasped in horror.

"Oh my god, he's screwing a senior citizen!" she declared. Gordon went pale.

"Eww! Grandma! No! Just. Just no," he assured her, wishing he could sit down, he felt very nauseous.

"Is the reason you haven't impregnated her because she's past the menopause?" she asked.

"NO!" Gordon moaned, burying his head in his hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry. "She's a couple years older than me. Y'know. Five, maybe. I dunno, I didn't ask!"

"Five! She's probably already got multiple children, all by different men!"

"I don't think she does," Gordon answered, doubtfully.

"What's wrong with her then?" his grandmother asked, also arching an eyebrow. Gordon frowned. Why was he the only Tracy who couldn't do the one eyebrow thing? He must be adopted.

"Nothing. She's perfect," he told her, without thinking.

"Perfect?" she repeated.

"What?"

"You said she was perfect," she told him. He shook his head.

"I didn't say 'perfect'!"

"You did."

"I didn't!"

"You did say 'perfect', son," Jeff agreed. Gordon blushed and cleared his throat.

"Well - even if I did, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant it as in there's nothing wrong with her," he explained.

"You're smitten," his grandmother declared.

"I am not smitten! I don't get smitten!" Gordon protested. Jeff nodded.

"Gordon makes a good point, Mother. If he didn't get serious about that Russian supermodel he dated for a year and a half, he's not likely to get smitten with anyone," he agreed.

"That was completely different. Rachel is nothing like Anna," Gordon answered, shaking his head and shuddering at the memory of his very clingy ex-girlfriend.

"Rachel! So she has a name!" his grandmother half-shouted, jubilantly.

"Oh, shit," Gordon groaned.

"Gordon!" she reprimanded him.

"Sorry."

"Why do you want to go and see her?" Jeff asked him. Gordon looked at his father as if he had suddenly grown an extra head.

"Oh, Dad. C'mon. You want me to draw you a diagram?" he asked.

"Gordon, if I start letting you jet off around the world for weekends with girls, I have four other sons who will wonder why the hell I won't let them go too," his father pointed out.

"I'm not the others. You don't get Scott asking for shore leave to see a girl because his lives with us!" Gordon argued. Mrs Tracy nodded.

"That's true too, Jeff, these walls aren't as thick as you'd think. I often wish they'd do us all a favour and go somewhere else," she agreed. Jeff closed his eyes and counted to ten before replying.

"Yes, thank you, Mother, that's very helpful," he answered, mildly.

"I don't want to jet off around the world. I want two nights in London. There's only one girl. And I need to see her," Gordon told him, firmly.

"Why?" Jeff asked.

"Because... I don't know," Gordon relented, his ability to stand his ground against the tag-team of his father and grandmother not quite as strong as he'd anticipated.

"Don't tell me you've fallen for her?" Jeff asked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous - how could I possibly have fallen for her? I only met her three days ago. I just need to see her again, that's all. I promised. A guy's gotta keep a promise, right? Where would International Rescue be if we didn't keep our promises to people?" he reasoned.

"You cannot compare the operation of a rescue organisation to you spending a weekend in London with a girl!" Jeff told him.

"Listen, Dad, if you let me take this weekend, I won't ask for shore leave again for a full year. I promise," Gordon told him, finally attempting to bargain his way to a weekend off.

"A year? What about her? Do you think she'll understand the fact she won't see you again for a whole year after you've had this weekend together?" Jeff asked.

"I may not see her again after this weekend at all," Gordon pointed out. "It's not a relationship. It's a weekend."

"You tell yourself that, sonny," his grandmother piped up, chuckling at him. Gordon looked at her, puzzled.

"What does that mean?"

"If you're prepared to travel half way around the world just to see a girl then you need to resign yourself to the fact that you're asking her for more than a weekend. Even if neither of you want to admit it," she told him. He shook his head dismissively.

"People spend weekends together like that all the time, it never means anything. I think you're overreacting just a little bit, don't you?" he asked.

"I'm not talking about people, Gordon. I'm talking about you. And I never overreact!" his grandmother protested.

At this point, Jeff and Gordon burst out into fits of uncontrollable laughter, much to Mrs Tracy's chagrin.

"Two nights?" Jeff finally asked after he and Gordon had stopped giggling. Gordon nodded.

"I leave Friday and come home on Sunday," he answered.

"You've already spoken to her, I take it?"

"I think she took more convincing than you did," Gordon admitted.

"What if there's an emergency while you're away?" Jeff asked.

"You can get me at the hotel," Gordon promised.

"Where are you staying?"

"Ummm..." Gordon now stared quite pointedly at the floor, knowing exactly what reaction he was about to get.

"Where are you staying, Gordon?" Jeff repeated, fixing his son with another steely glare.

"Just central London," Gordon answered, nonchalantly.

"I'm gonna need the name if I need to call you," his father insisted. Gordon swallowed hard, took a deep breath and finally looked up.

"We're just going to Claridges," he told him, his tone unchanged. The vein in Jeff's temple began to visibly throb.

"WHAT?!" he roared.

"Only for a couple nights!" Gordon answered with his best winning smile. "And at least she isn't pregnant!" he reminded him.

"And you say you aren't smitten? You never took Anna to Claridges!" he pointed out. Gordon frowned and shook his head.

"Can you imagine Anna in a place like that? She'd go all Communist on their asses and complain about the decadent lifestyles of the bourgeoisie! Even though she probably earns more in a week than the entire front of house staff put together earned in two years! She'd be more embarrassing than Grandma in a GUM clinic," he answered, pointing at Mrs Tracy, who Gordon could have sworn blushed for a moment.

"That was one time, Gordon - and all I said to the girl behind the desk was that I was disappointed she didn't have any strawberry flavoured ones!" she answered, loftily.

"How the hell you ended up in there in the first place is beyond me," Gordon retorted.

"I took a wrong turn, I was headed for Orthopaedics."

"Will you two please focus? We're talking about my son spending the entire Tracy fortune on one weekend in London with a girl he doesn't know!" Jeff interrupted, raising his voice.

"It's hardly the entire Tracy fortune. Besides, I'm not going near your fortune - the inheritance is still safe!" Gordon shot back at him. Jeff rolled his eyes. "She's just a nice English girl who could do with a weekend of being spoiled a bit. It's not a crime."

"No, but it's a little excessive."

"It's only one weekend. If I was dating her I'd probably spend it over the course of a few months - at least this way I can get it out of the way in one fell swoop!" Gordon reasoned.

"Hey, while you're there you could introduce her to Penny - she usually goes to Claridges for afternoon tea when she's shopping in London!" Jeff remarked. Gordon held his hands up.

"It's just a weekend, Dad. Don't get ahead of yourself. Rachel isn't going to meet Penny. She's not going to meet any of you. It's just one weekend and then we can get on with our lives. Separately. Alone. Individually. Not together," Gordon insisted.

"Right," Jeff answered with a smile and a knowing nod. Gordon frowned suspiciously.

"What?"

"Nothing," Jeff replied, shaking his head and attempting an innocent look.

"No, no, no. You said 'right'. In that 'I know something you don't know' way," Gordon insisted.

"No, I just said 'right'. As in, 'of course'. Just a weekend. So you keep saying."

"I mean it!"

"Well, I suppose if it's just a weekend and after Sunday you're never going to see her again for the rest of your life... and if you're sure about forfeiting your shore leave for the next twelve months... I suppose you can go. Just this once. I don't want you coming to me next week when your groin starts aching and telling me you need to see her again," Jeff warned him. Gordon's face contorted in pain.

"God, Dad, do you have to be so graphic? Especially this close to lunchtime?" he pleaded. Jeff shrugged.

"We've all been there, it's only natural," he replied. "Why, I remember the times when your mother and I used to drop Scott and Virgil off with your grandmother and we'd go away for a couple of days and we'd do absolutely nothing else but-"

"DAD!" Gordon begged, screwing his eyes shut in fear. "Mental images I never needed! Stop! For the love of God, stop!" Jeff laughed.

"All right, son. Have a good time, that's all," he relented, patting his son warmly on the shoulder. Gordon beamed at him.

"Thanks, Dad. You're all right, I don't care what the others say," he answered, punching his father gently in the arm. Jeff's face fell.

"What 'others'?" he asked. Gordon shrugged.

"Never mind. Bye!" he called over his shoulder, skipping merrily out of the room. Jeff and Mrs Tracy looked wordlessly at each other for a few moments.

"Claridges!" Jeff began, shaking his head. "They charge about four thousand dollars a night for a suite of rooms. That's before he even buys her dinner! I hope he knows what he's doing. That's a lot of money to spend on an unimportant weekend."

"Fifty bucks says they get married," Mrs Tracy suggested, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially. Jeff gasped in horror.

"Mother! That's terrible, you can't make a bet with me about my son's future!" he protested.

"Fine. A hundred?" she offered. Jeff paused for a moment.

"Make it one-fifty," he answered, spitting on his palm and thrusting his hand out to her. She grinned and spat on her palm too.

"You're on," she agreed, shaking his outstretched, saliva-infused palm firmly.


	4. Chapter Four - The Airport

_**A/N: ** It did occur to me while I was writing this and referencing the London Underground network that according to Thunderbirds TV-Verse (**Vault of Death**) the Tube no longer exists in 2065. Well, I'm sorry but that's the most impractical suggestion with regard to the future I've ever heard. *starts playing Land of Hope and Glory on convenient record player and stands on soapbox in a Tim Brooke-Taylor speech-making fashion* London would grind to a halt without its underground train service - and it frequently does when just a couple of lines are closed! So, even though it's not strictly canon according to TB universe, unless somehow they've developed teleportation by 2065 there's no way they'll close down the Tube. _

_This concludes the statement from the London Public Transport Authority. We return you now to our story, where Rachel begins by asking one of life's most intriguing questions..._

**Chapter Four - The Airport**

**Heathrow Airport**

Airports are such cheerful places. They're filled with people going off on adventures, on holiday, coming home, meeting up with people they love, the hustle, the bustle. The sterile airport smell mixed with the scent of freshly baked doughnuts and just-brewed coffee from the kiosks, the gentle buzz of excitement as people head off to the departure lounge or wait anxiously at arrivals for a familiar face.

Rachel stared at her empty cup of coffee and debated getting another or just throwing all caution to the wind and getting a glass of wine. Even if it was only half eleven in the morning. She looked across the table at the tall, dark haired man who sat with her and sighed helplessly.

"Why isn't coffee alcoholic?" she asked. He chuckled and squeezed her arm comfortingly.

"He'll be here, Rach," he told her. She shook her head.

"This is a stupid idea. I shouldn't have believed him. I was stupid to think he'd want to see an old crone like me again. He was probably just being polite, I shouldn't have taken him seriously," she insisted, looking around nervously.

"Come on, stop with the self pity, it's a terribly unattractive quality. Nobody's polite about weekends in Mayfair. Besides, what heterosexual man in his right mind wouldn't want a piece of you?" he asked.

"You have to say that, you're my best friend - and you're gay!" she moaned, burying her face in her hands. "I feel like an idiot. I'm far too old for all of this, I'm not a teenager any more!"

Her friend sat back in his chair, folded his arms and looked at her sternly. "What exactly is going on here, Miss Lane?" he asked.

"I already told you twice, Mr Gregson," she reminded him, busily concentrating on folding her paper napkin into a fan.

"I know, but you need to tell me again, because I still don't believe it. You're all set for a dirty weekend away with a _boy _you don't even know?" he asked. She rolled her eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, you're a grown woman and he's... How old _is_ he, Rachel?"

"Twenty...two..." she answered hesitantly, looking away from him in embarrassment. He gasped in horror.

"Twenty-two! You're thir-"

"Yes! Thank you Mark, I know how old I am!" she interrupted, holding a hand up to stop him. "Although at least I still get asked for ID when I buy a bottle of wine!" she added, as more of a comfort to herself than an addition to the conversation.

"And you just... shagged this random boy?" Mark asked, a little too loudly, as a woman on a nearby table shot Rachel a withering glare of disapproval. Rachel beamed at her and shot her a wink, much to the woman's distaste, before turning back to Mark.

"Technically, it was an accident," she explained.

"Really? An accident how, exactly? You just happened to fall on top of him as you were passing in the hallway? 'Oh, I'm sorry, is that your bulging wallet in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me, sailor?!'" he teased her. Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"I didn't know he was going to take me for a dirty weekend in Mayfair at the time!" she pointed out, raising her voice a little and fixing her gaze pointedly on the woman at the nearby table who pretended not to be listening. She smirked to herself and looked back at Mark.

"How much do aquanauts earn nowadays so they can afford this sort of weekend? What exactly goes on at the WASP conventions now, for that matter? When I worked there they were just full of boring old men rambling on about submarines," Mark said.

Rachel shrugged. The whole scenario had absolutely confounded her. She didn't even really know what she was doing there. She wasn't altogether sure that Gordon would turn up, despite Mark's best efforts to reassure her. Perhaps this was just a stupid trick. All that effort for nothing. She'd even bought a new dress. She had no idea what people wore to Claridges but she thought it was nigh on impossible to go wrong with a little black dress. Even if she had bought it from a supermarket - it was the best she could do with two weeks to go until pay day.

"I have no idea what happened. One minute he offered to buy me a drink at the bar because he'd barged in front of me and I'd said something sarcastic about manners costing nothing, and then the next thing I know, I'm doing rather unladylike things to him in a lift and getting rogered silly against my hotel room door!" she told him, blushing at the memory. "I mean, I just don't do that sort of thing. It was honestly the most bizarre thing that's happened to me since I was married, and we all know how surreal those eighteen months with Danny were!" she added, wincing at the memory.

"I did tell you not to get involved with an actor, darling!" Mark reminded her.

"I know you did but he was ever so pretty and he had a beautiful speaking voice, and to his credit he did ask me to marry him," she argued.

"He was drunk," Mark retorted. Rachel shrugged.

"He was always drunk and it still counted! Besides, I was twenty-five and I didn't think anyone else'd ask me. I was young and stupid. This time, it's different. He's young and stupid and I'm... well, I'm old and stupid. I think that'll balance things out nicely. Besides, he's not going to ask me to marry him, this is just a one-off. Or, if you count last weekend, a two-off," she decided with a nod, still more concerned about whether to go for another coffee or a glass of wine.

"What's he like, then, this child?"

"He isn't a child!" she sighed, burying her face in her hands. "His name's Gordon."

"Gordon?" he repeated, frowning distastefully. "Nobody's called Gordon! Not in real life!" Rachel shrugged and attempted for the third time to drink coffee from her empty cup.

"I know, that's what I said," she agreed, pushing her cup away to stop her from doing that again. "But it suits him, oddly enough. He's got sort of... well... I'm going to call it strawberry blond-"

"He's ginger!" Mark interrupted in delight, clapping his hands gleefully. He turned around to the kiosk next to their table and waved to the girl behind the counter. "Please can my friend have another coffee? She's having trouble drinking out of an empty mug," he asked. The girl nodded and quickly fixed another drink, which Mark then passed to Rachel.

"Yeah, he's ginger. But it's a nice ginger, it's not like he hasn't got any eyelashes or anything. He's got freckles, and really unusual eyes," she told him, taking a sip of coffee and sighing contentedly, both at the memory of Gordon's eyes and the speed at which she felt the caffeine coursing through her veins.

"Crossed?" he asked. Rachel laughed.

"No! Sort of a goldeny pale browny kind of colour. It's difficult to describe them."

"Never mind all that - has he got a big-"

"Stop it!" Rachel warned him, blushing furiously and giggling in embarrassment.

"You're smitten with him, aren't you?" Mark asked, bluntly. Rachel looked at him indignantly, as though he'd just accused her of stealing from her own grandmother.

"Smitten? Oh for goodness's sake, don't be so ridiculous. How old do you think I am?" she protested. Mark's eyes widened.

"Wow, you've really got it bad!" he commented.

"No I do not!" she argued. "He's just a nice boy with the finely sculpted body of an Adonis who just happens to want to squander his hard earned cash on taking me for a weekend away. That's all. It's one weekend, not a relationship. Neither of us want anything serious. It's just a weekend. Nothing else. I probably won't see him again after this weekend at all, so it's not even worth our energy having this conversation," she explained, suddenly feeling terribly saddened by that thought.

"Oh my god, you're in love with him!" Mark gasped. Rachel sighed so heavily that she ended up growling at him.

"Oh, do be quiet. This isn't an MGM musical, you know, nobody falls in love after five days unless they have some sort of mental disorder," she snapped. "I'm just going to spend a nice forty eight hours with a very capable young man, return home with a few bruises and struggle with walking straight for a few days, and then it'll all be a happy memory. We'll have completely forgotten about each other this time next month."

"If that's the story we're going with, Rach, I'm more than happy to back you up on it," Mark assured her, entirely unconvinced by her cavalier attitude. She nodded and took another few sips of her coffee as they continued to wait. "So. Gordon, eh? Tall, ginger and handsome?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Well... ginger and handsome," Rachel replied.

"Great, you got a ginger shortarse just out of high school. Top marks, Rach," he shot back at her.

"Look, do you think I'm proud of myself for this?" she asked, defensively.

"Let me see. Are you proud of yourself for nailing a young bit of totty who has insisted on taking you to Claridges for the weekend for some no-strings-attached nookie? Of course you bloody are!" he replied.

"Of course I bloody am!" she replied with a giggle, clapping her hands together and doing a little jig of excitement.

She casually turned to check the Arrivals board and saw that Gordon's flight had just landed. Her face grew pale and her hands started shaking.

"Shit, he's here. Do something!" she panicked.

"What do you want me to do?" Mark asked, confused. Rachel shook her head. "Look, calm down - you shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee, should you? It'll be fine."

She stood up and smoothed down her dress, tucked her hair behind her ears, then untucked her hair from behind her ears, then tried to stand casually but couldn't quite manage it.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, nervously.

"You look almost good enough to turn me, darling."

"That's not really saying much, your Women I Would list is even longer than mine. Look, I haven't got smudged mascara, have I? I don't want him to think he'll be spending the weekend with Alice Cooper!" she suddenly asked, tilting her head back and opening her eyes wide so he could check. He shook his head and squeezed her shoulders gently.

"You look lovely, I promise," he reassured her. She sighed in relief. "Now then. Let's do the checklist. Have you got clean underwear on?" She nodded.

"New."

"Legs shaved?"

"Everything's waxed, why do you think I stood on the tube the whole way?"

"Boobs."

"What?"

"Boobs!"

"What?!"

"You're giving everyone an eyeful, will you put them away?"

"Oh god, sorry," she gasped, blushing as she pulled the straps of her dress up.

"Rach? Hey! Rach!" a voice called.

Rachel and Mark looked over to see Gordon hurrying towards them. He was wearing a light grey suit, a black polo neck jumper and looked as though he'd just stepped off a film set. Their mouths dropped open. Rachel's stomach started churning and she felt a tingly sort of sensation from her head downwards which made her knees start wobbling.

"That's him," she told Mark, her voice starting to quaver slightly.

"The one who looks like he'd be better looking naked?" Mark asked, unblinkingly. Rachel nodded vaguely.

"He is."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Mark asked, gulping. She raised both her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

"No idea," she admitted, taking a deep breath and swallowing down her nerves. "I can take it from here, thanks," she decided.

"You sure?" Mark asked, doubtfully. She nodded and grinned up at him.

"Stop cramping my style."

"What style?"

"Go home!"

"It'd be rude not to introduce me, you know," he told her. She sighed and chose to ignore him.

"Gordon!" Rachel began, as Gordon finally reached them. Neither of them had any idea what to do at first and both looked very puzzled at each other when they realised they'd decided to shake hands. "This is very formal, isn't it?" she asked with a giggle. He nodded and pulled her into a warm hug, which didn't really do a great deal to stop her knees wobbling.

"You came!" he told her in a quiet, almost awed voice as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"Not yet, but I'm sure I will," she answered without thinking, then blushed violently. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I mean... erm..." Gordon grinned wolfishly at her.

"I can guarantee that," he whispered just behind her ear, so close that she could feel his lips brushing against her skin, making her tremble involuntarily. "Come on, let's go," he decided, pulling away from her and looking her up and down. "You look... uh..." he added, not looking anywhere near her face.

"I'm up here," she told him, tilting his chin upwards so they made eye contact. He grinned.

"You look great," he finished, leaning in to kiss her. Just before their lips met, she pushed him away gently and turned to Mark.

"Gordon, this is my best friend, Mark," she began. Gordon grimaced briefly but turned and smiled politely at Mark. "He came along just to make sure you were real," she joked. Mark looked Gordon up and down appraisingly as he shook his outstretched hand, and Gordon felt rather unnerved.

"I'll take care of her," Gordon promised. Mark's eyes narrowed.

"I sincerely hope you don't mean that in an Al Pacino way, young man," he replied, sternly. Gordon couldn't help but laugh.

"No, no. More in a James Bond kind of way," he replied. Rachel tried, with varying degrees of success, to contain an excited grin.

"George Lazenby?"

"I was thinking more Pierce Brosnan," Gordon answered, not really sure what the difference was but deciding by Mark's tone that any alternative to Lazenby would be the right answer anyway. Mark's face softened into a broad smile.

"All right, I'll let you get on with it, then. Have a fabulous time, darling, I look forward to my edited version of events when you get back. Pinch me a towel, will you?" he asked. She laughed and nodded.

"It's a deal," she agreed, hugging him and waving him goodbye.

Rachel and Gordon casually linked hands as they strolled towards the waiting car. He suddenly stopped and pulled her sharply towards him for a kiss, but she held back just as their lips were almost touching, shook her head and grinned cheekily at him. He let out a growl of frustration.

"No fair," he protested with an attempt at a pout which he couldn't really hold for very long. "You didn't play this hard to get last week!"

"I know, but I'd hate for you to think I was predictable!" she answered, looking at him with a wide-eyed and serious expression. "I suppose we should've offered Mark a lift to the tube," she reflected as she looked over her shoulder and saw the top of Mark's head disappearing down the escalator.

"I don't think we have time," he told her. She looked at him and frowned. "We've got to be back here in just over forty-eight hours and my ultimate priority at this moment is to get you safely to the hotel so I can do some really inappropriate things to you," he explained. Her eyes widened and she gulped loudly.

"I say!" she stammered, looking completely flustered, then beamed at him. "All right then!" She pulled him towards her by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him.

"That's more like it, I was beginning to think you'd gone off me!" he told her. She shook her head slowly.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Rachel leaned in even closer to him.

"Because my ultimate priority at this moment is getting you back to the hotel so you can do terribly inappropriate things to me," she murmured. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and straightened his back decisively.

"Get in the car," he ordered, firmly. She beamed at him and nodded her agreement. He tapped her sharply on the bottom as she got into the waiting Bentley and she let out a squeal of surprise. "It wasn't me, it was my hand!" he called, apologetically.

He turned to the chauffeur and slipped him a folded fifty pound note. "I have no morals where 'accidentally' jumping red lights are concerned. Just a little FYI, there," he advised with a wink. The chauffeur nodded and smiled briefly, Gordon clapped him on the shoulder and followed Rachel into the back of the car. His weekend was just about to start and he definitely wasn't prepared to wait a moment longer.


	5. Chapter Five - The Hotel

_**A/N: ** This has stumped me, I must be honest. I know everything's been heading up to this big nookiefest but I simply cannot write that shizz, man. I just can't. My basic sort of style is for ridiculous things to happen, completely unromantic situations to befall various people and for them to end up accidentally falling in love despite their best efforts to the contrary. The Other Thing doesn't really come into my brain at all, no matter how strongly I hint at it, my brain always fades to curtains - and I can never be serious long enough to write anything nearly so important. So there will be some very significant fading to curtains in this chapter. There again, I know that the people who read my stories are all a very savvy lot, and you don't need me to explain what's going on all the time (Louise Hargadon - passing the buck since 1983!)! _

_Also, I must point out that from today I'll be away from technology for a few days. So although Chapter Six is mostly done, it won't be up until at least next Thursday. _

**Chapter Five - The Hotel**

When they finally arrived at Claridges, the chauffeur opened the door of the Bentley and Rachel and Gordon half-fell out, in varying stages of dishevellment.

"Holy shit!" Rachel squealed as she fell backwards out of the car.

"Fuck!" Gordon yelped as he felt himself hurtling face-first towards the pavement with only Rachel's head to cushion the blow. He instinctively shielded the back of her head with his hand and turned his left shoulder sharply towards the floor so that if she did fall, she'd only fall onto him.

"Oh my goodness!" Rachel gasped, looking at the floor and then up at Gordon as she realised what he'd just done.

"I think we're here, sweetie," Gordon offered, blushing.

"Perhaps I should have knocked, sir," the chauffeur began, slightly embarrassed.

Gordon and Rachel untangled themselves from each other, sat back in the car and adjusted themselves and their clothing before leaving the car. Rachel was utterly mortified and couldn't bear to make eye contact with the chauffeur.

"I'm terribly sorry," she told the chauffeur, blushing furiously at the floor. The chauffeur chuckled.

"Not at all, madam. I'd be far more scandalised if you were the first," he assured her. She closed her eyes and cringed.

"Quite so," she agreed, putting on her best phone voice. "These Americans can be so pushy, can't they?" she asked, venturing to look up in his vague direction. He laughed again.

"I don't think I can safely proffer an opinion on that, madam," he answered with a smile, doffing his cap and getting back into the car. Rachel looked up at the entrance to the hotel and squeezed Gordon's hand tightly. She really didn't know whether or not this had been a good idea. She didn't know whether to be excited or terrified, and if she was honest she thought she probably felt a little of each.

The concierge strode cheerfully towards them, smiling kindly at them. Something about his eyes made Rachel feel as though he might just possibly be the nicest person in the whole world. They were sort of blue-green colour and seemed to be full of mischief and gentleness all at the same time. His wide mouth that smiled easily and his cheerful, open face made him seem as though he could solve any problem with a smile and a wave of his hand.

"Mr Tracy! And, erm... Mrs Tracy?" the head concierge began, shaking hands with Gordon.

"No!" Gordon began, horrified. "No, she's not my wife! I mean..." he spluttered. Rachel cringed again, shot Gordon a look that told him to be quiet and turned to the concierge.

"Miss Lane. Thank you so much for having us," she began, politely, shaking his hand firmly.

"It's a pleasure, madam," he replied with a warm smile. "Alfred!" he called. A young man of about twenty appeared, dressed in full valet livery. "Miss Lane, Mr Tracy - this is Alfred, he will be your valet for the duration of your stay. If there's anything at all you would like, just let him know. If Alfred can't help, please feel free to ask me."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," Rachel answered, already embarrassed at the idea of having to ask someone else to do anything for her.

"Not at all, madam, it's what I'm here for," Alfred replied with a polite nod. "If you'll just follow me, I'll show you to your suite," he continued, grabbing Rachel and Gordon's modest amounts of luggage and scurrying towards the guest rooms.

Rachel stopped briefly in the foyer to take in her surroundings. She had never even seen anywhere like it in her life. The floor was beautifully tiled in black and white marble, there was a chandelier in the middle of the foyer roughly the size of a small child. As she looked up she marvelled at the intricate detailed decorations carved into the ceilings. Gordon seemed to waltz off as though being part of this level of luxury and decadence was just part of his everyday life, but it was completely alien to Rachel. She wasn't sure if she should apologise for being there or attempt to levitate so that she didn't scuff the floors.

"Rach!" Gordon called, snapping her out of her trance. She blushed and ran up the stairs to him, grabbing his hand tightly.

"Thank you so much," she whispered, squeezing his arm with her free hand. "This is amazing."

"Glad you like it," he answered with a wink.

Eventually they arrived at their own suite. Alfred showed them in and put their bags down by the giant four poster bed. Rachel's jaw dropped as she started looking around the room. This didn't go unnoticed by Gordon, who gently pushed her jaw closed with his forefinger.

"Are you all right?" he mouthed. She nodded.

"Will there be anything else?" Alfred asked. Rachel shook her head.

"No, thank you very much, Alfred. I think we can take care of things from here for now - please can you give us half an hour to unpack?" she asked.

"Better make that an hour, Alfred," Gordon told him. Alfred nodded his understanding.

"Very good, sir. Madam," Alfred replied, nodding courteously as he left the room. Rachel shook her head in disbelief.

"Wow. Our own butler. And he's called Alfred! It's the closest I'll ever be to being Batman!" she told him, excitedly. He placed his forefinger across her lips and shook his head.

"Shush," he ordered, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down onto the bed.

The curtains on the four poster bed were of a different colour to the ones hanging over the windows. They were a dark purple colour and made of pure silk. Apparently it had taken Valerie Von Tuttington, the celebrated interior designer, five weeks to find just the right shade of purple to use for those curtains. She had been commissioned by Claridges three years previously to redesign fifteen of their most popular suites. The suite that Gordon and Rachel were staying in was tastefully decorated in purples and varying shades of beige, using materials and dyes of superior and exclusive quality, of a standard that would only befit an establishment with the reputation of Claridges.

"Hey, I was talking to one of the guys in the Marineville HQ and he says you've left the WASPs," Rachel told Gordon, eventually, as she traced her fingertip absentmindedly over a scar on his chest.

"Yeah, I left about six months ago," he answered, trying not to flinch. He was ridiculously ticklish, which was never a good thing for an habitual prankster to admit to being.

"I see. So, haven't you got some sort of a job to do back home? What does your boss say about you swanning off for yet another weekend away on no notice?" she asked, propping herself up on one arm and looking at him. He shook his head.

"It's not a problem," he assured her. She let out a breath of laughter.

"Wow, you really got into some trouble over it, didn't you?" she asked, interested. He laughed and shook his head again.

"It's fine, honestly. My boss can't fire me, he's uhm... god this is embarrassing," he began, flushing a deep shade of pink.

"It can't be that bad! Try me."

"I sorta work for my Dad," he mumbled.

"Oh, _I_ see! Your Dad gave you a job," Rachel teased him. "It all makes sense now."

"Hey, no, it's not some weird nepotism thing, I promise," he protested. "It's just... it's a little bit complicated but it makes it easier if we all work together."

"All?" she repeated with a frown.

"My brothers work for him too."

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"I know it sounds like we can't get ourselves real jobs, but... well, y'know... Dad's come up with a new venture we all believe in so... it works. We're all invested in it. It's like a six-way partnership thing," he told her. "He's just in charge, that's all."

"Six?!" she repeated.

"I've got four brothers," he explained. Rachel's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Four? Holy hell, did your dad not have any other hobbies?" she asked.

"Well he used to be an astronaut and I guess it gets a bit lonesome up in space, so he must've had a lot of making up for lost time to do with my mom when he got home!" he reasoned. Rachel chuckled.

"What is this six-way partnership business venture, then?" she asked.

"Uh... it's a sort of global security business."

"Security? Are you the muscle?" she asked, interested.

"No, baby - I'm the glamour!" he shot back at her with a wink. She laughed, snuggled back down in the bed and rested her head on his chest.

"So if I was in some sort of crisis, you'd be my go-to guy?" she asked, smiling as she listened to his heartbeat. He thought about this for a moment and nodded.

"I guess I would be," he answered. She paused for a moment before replying.

"You're not at all what I expect, Gordon," she told him.

"Is that a good thing?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I don't know," she answered, vaguely. "I suppose you're quite well suited to your new job," she remarked.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"This is the safest I've felt in years," she replied.

"Good," he murmured, tightening his hold of her and pulling her closer to him. "Me too," he admitted.

"Gordon?"

"Yeah?"

"What did your Dad say when you told him you wanted to come and spend the weekend here with a strange woman?" she asked. He burst out laughing.

"He was a little shocked," he answered, truthfully. "But, uhm... I sort of promised him something so he let me go."

"Oh, yes? What was that?" she asked, interested.

"I kinda told him if I could spend two days with you I wouldn't ask for any more leave for another twelve months," he admitted. Her eyes widened.

"You're giving up your annual leave for a whole year just to spend one weekend with... with me?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Well, I live somewhere real nice, so..."

"You're not going to go anywhere for another year just so you can spend forty-eight hours with me?" she insisted, totally incapable of processing the information.

"Don't say it like that, I might change my mind!" he joked.

"Three hundred and sixty five days of work so that you can spend two days with me?" she asked. He kissed her, more to stop her from talking than anything else.

"Yes. All right? Yes. Two days with you, a year at home. It's fine, honest. I don't need a vacation," he told her. "Besides, there's nothing to stop you coming to see me," he added, then visibly recoiled as he realised what he'd said. "I'm sorry, you won't want to do that, I dunno why I even suggested it."

"No, don't apologise. Thank you, that's very kind of you. Let me think about it."

"I've got a better idea," he answered, rolling her onto her back as he kissed her.

"What's that?"

"Let's stop thinking," he murmured.

The curtains in Gordon and Rachel's room were, as with everything else in Claridges, tasteful and elegant - and probably cost more than Rachel's entire annual salary. Unlike the drapes around the four poster bed, the curtains were of thick velvet and were a pale brown colour. There were only two rooms in the entire hotel with those drapes, the others were in the Bridal Suite. Legend has it that Valerie Von Tuttington had become embroiled in a legendary argument with a rival designer over who got the last hundred and fifty metres of material for the curtains, which resulted in two broken nails and a bruised cheekbone.

Later on that evening, Rachel dashed around the hotel suite in a blind panic as she attempted to get ready for their evening meal in the restaurant. Gordon frowned as he saw her hands visibly shaking as she put her lipstick on.

"You know, Rach, if you're that nervous, we could just stay in here," he offered. "I bet we could send Alfred out for Thai or something." She shook her head firmly.

"We couldn't do that. If all we're going to do is stay in here, send poor old Alfred out for takeaway and give each other backache, we may as well have gone and stayed at a Holiday Inn," she answered.

"Anyone ever tell you you have an unparalleled way with words?" he inquired. She pinched her lips together into a mischievous grin.

"You'd be amazed at the things I can do with my tongue," she answered.

"I'd like to be."

"Maybe later, if you're good."

"I'm always good!" he assured her with a winning smile.

"Hmm," she replied, doubtfully. She checked her mascara in the mirror and stood up. She turned her back to Gordon, the zip on her dress still firmly undone. "Come on, zip me up, let's go. I have no idea what kind of thing I'm supposed to have for my dinner in this sort of place, anywway."

"I think you can pretty much have what you like," Gordon told her, zipping her dress up slowly and patting her gently on her right hip when he'd finished. She was perfectly capable of zipping her own dress up, and he knew it, but he didn't complain. There was something quite nice about it, he couldn't quite define it.

"Anything?" she asked, interested. He shrugged.

"Sure, anything. Besides, I haven't eaten anything since I was on the plane, I'm starved."

"You had two fistfuls of grapes, an apple and two oranges out of the fruit basket," Rachel pointed out.

"Yeah, but-"

"And half the chocolates they left us - AND they were all the caramel ones!" she interrupted.

"I like caramel!" he protested.

"So do I!" she retorted. He sighed.

"The point is - I'm still hungry."

"Americans!" she remarked, shaking her head in despair.

"Racism will not be tolerated, young lady!" he told her sternly, but his eyes glinting cheekily. She grinned.

"See, that's what I like about you," she told him, cheerfully.

"What's that?"

"You still class me as 'young'!" she answered, wrapping her arms around his waist and cuddling into his chest, even though she had to crouch a little to do it.

Their evening meal was a very flamboyant affair, despite the fact initially Rachel wanted to keep things very simple. Rachel decided that the thing she wanted most of all was steak, and even after a little protestation from Gordon, she finally won him round to her way of thinking and they were soon merrily tucking into twelve ounce fillet steaks, cooked to perfection. They didn't really think they had much room left for anything else, but they suddenly decided that the only thing that could possibly follow their steaks were ice-cream sundaes. Gordon plumped for a banana split, which turned out to be roughly the size of a small cat, while Rachel had a chocolate sundae that comprised of rum and raisin, chocolate and caramel ice cream, whipped cream, caramel sauce and still-warm chunks of brownies melting everything together into one huge glass of decadence.

Finally, they dragged themselves back up to their room, holding their stomachs and groaning with fullness.

"I may never eat again!" Rachel moaned as she stumbled into the room. Gordon nodded.

"Wow, that was pretty something, wasn't it?" he asked, the taste of the almonds and cream from the banana split still on his lips.

"It was, I'm stuffed. Although I've probably got room for a nightcap of something or other, I usually do. Oooh! Do you think if I ask Alfred nicely he'd get me some cinnamon whiskey liqueur?" she asked. Gordon's face contorted in pain.

"That sounds disgusting," he replied. She shook her head.

"It isn't. It tastes like Christmas, all warming and sweet and yummy. It's like giving your insides a cuddle. You should try some."

"I might not survive!" he warned her. She chuckled.

"Oh, for pity's sake. It'll put hairs on your chest, it'll do you good," she answered. He pursed his lips together and shrugged.

"Maybe later," he replied.

"Later?"

"Yeah, later. Listen, can I ask you something?" he asked, pulling her close to him and kissing her softly.

"Anything you like." she offered.

"What do you think of the shower curtain in our bathroom?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.


	6. Chapter Six - The Exes

_**A/N:** My apologies for the late update, I did intend to be ready with a new chapter by yesterday but well, you know how things are. I had a very exciting couple of days adventuring with a lovely little pretty ginger-haired chap (not nearly as exciting as Gordon and Rachel's adventures, I hasten to add) and was a bit wiped out for a few days. But here we are now and that's the main thing...! _

_Some slight uneasiness later on, but first of all Gordon learns one valuable life-lesson. Never mess with a grown woman before her first coffee of the day._

**Chapter Six - The Exes**

Rachel woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She kept her eyes shut for as long as possible but was gently roused out of sleep by the smell of the arabica beans. When she finally opened her eyes the first thing she saw was a large white mug beside her bed, filled to the brim with strong, dark brown liquid. It was almost worth waking up for.

"Morning!" Gordon began in a little chirpy voice. He had been awake for a while and had just placed the mug of coffee on her bedside table and was now sat waiting patiently for her to wake up. She growled at him.

"Shh," she hissed.

"Wow, you're really not good at mornings, are you?" he asked. She turned her head with great effort and glared at him. "Woah!" he added, holding his hands up in defeat and chuckling at her grumpy face. "No conversation before coffee, I get it."

"Hmph," she mumbled. She closed her eyes again and started drifting off before screaming in shock as Gordon lifted the duvet up and gently placed an ice-cube on her stomach. He howled with laughter, holding onto his sides and rolling around the bed, kicking his feet in the air with mirthful abandon.

"Your face!" he gasped, screwing his eyes shut and convulsing with laughter again.

"I'm going to actually kill you!" she threatened, not remotely put off by his carefree laughter. "Come here," she insisted, grabbing him and starting to tickle him.

"No! No fair! Agh!" he squealed, wriggling to get free.

"Messing about with me and my kip, are you?" Rachel giggled, fighting to poke and prod his ribs. She was a lot stronger than he gave her credit for and she'd soon overpowered him, and before they knew it they'd rolled right off the bed and landed with a crash to the floor.

"Rape!" he called out, feebly, as her attack of tickling continued undeterred.

"Oh give over," she growled, grabbing his wrists and pinning his arms either side of his head. "Now," she continued, kissing him. "Good morning, sunshine," she whispered. He wrested his hands from her grasp and wrapped his arms around her tightly as he returned her kiss.

Just as Rachel was about to forget about her first coffee of the day entirely, they were both taken by surprise as they heard a loud gunshot followed by three strong vibrations.

"What the-" Gordon began, baffled.

"Oh, it's just my phone. It'll be Mark. I basically have no other friends. At least none who text me as often as he does," she explained, clambering back into bed, leaning across to her bedside table and grabbing her phone. Gordon shrugged.

"I see, and what does Mark have to say for himself?" he asked, getting back into bed and attempting to read over her shoulder.

"Wait... Oh! He says he Googled you," she answered, sipping her coffee absentmindedly. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"He Googled me? Wow. I didn't feel a thing. Tell him he's very gentle," he teased her. She shot him a disapproving look which wasn't matched by her impish grin.

"You're disgusting," she declared. He shook his head.

"I'm hot," he replied, smugly.

"You're hot and disgusting," she retorted.

"And adorable. You forgot adorable."

"And... oh my god!" she gasped, her eyes widening as she continued reading.

"Hey, y'know, I don't like to brag about it, but I guess I am pretty damn awesome," Gordon admitted.

"You must be, if you won a gold medal at it!" Rachel agreed. Gordon frowned.

"Are we still talking about how incredible I am at sex?" he asked, cautiously.

"No, we're talking about how incredible you are at swimming. But hey, if that idea helps you get through the night, Buster, who am I to shatter your illusions?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, quiet, you know you love it!" he chided her. "Anyway, I thought the Olympics thing was old news? It was years ago."

"No, it's new news to me," she answered. Gordon sighed and shook his head. How anyone could or would want to avoid the Olympics was entirely beyond him, especially the swimming, which was easily the most exciting of all the events. Much better than boring old running.

"You didn't watch the Olympics? I was in it! I won a gold medal! I was in a really small pair of red speedos. I looked great!" he told her. She raised an eyebrow again at him and he frowned. "Don't do that, you know I can't do it!" he pleaded.

"You looked great? Sweetheart, you would've been, what... seventeen, five years ago? I think it would've been illegal for me to have looked at you then and thought anything even vaguely lusty," she reminded him. "I'm ancient, remember?"

"Ah, phooey!" he grumbled, waving his hand dismissively. She sighed.

"Hey, 1968 called, they want their word back!" she shot back at him.

"You got an answer for everything, don't you?" he asked. She nodded.

"I try," she admitted. Another gunshot sounded and Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't Mark know we've got a lot of very important things to do and I leave tomorrow?" he demanded.

"Hang on, I'll be five seconds... oh my GOD!" she gasped.

"What now?" he asked, interested. She looked at him questioningly.

"Anna Romanov?"

"Oh, no," he moaned, slamming the palm of his hand into his face. "Anna? Seriously?"

"You dated a Russian supermodel for eighteen months?" she asked. He pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment.

"Well, I think 'dated' is a very strong term," he finally replied. "We saw each other a few times. She was, uh... a little high maintenance," he replied as delicately as he could.

"God, I feel inadequate," she confessed. He sat up straight and looked at her indignantly.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Oh, Gordon, don't be ridiculous. Look at me, I'm quite clearly not a supermodel," she pointed out, gesturing towards her slightly plump figure and messed-up hair.

"No, you aren't, and I'm glad you aren't," he answered, stubbornly. She sighed.

"Don't be ridiculous, she's beautiful," she said, matter-of-factly.

"You're beautiful," he shot back at her. She smiled to herself but didn't acknowledge his comment.

"You have to admit - a glamorous, well-travelled woman like that is a far more exciting prospect than a secretary from Muswell Hill who can only afford to travel on London public transport!" she told him. He shook his head and, if Rachel wasn't mistaken, genuinely looked angry with the way she was speaking about herself.

"Can we just drop it?" he asked. "Anna and I barely even remember each other, we saw each other for a while a hundred years ago, it didn't work out. It's no big deal. Definitely nothing to get jealous over."

"Who says I'm jealous?" she asked. He shrugged.

"You're the one who feels inadequate! I dunno why, anyway, she's just a girl," he added, a little sulkily.

"I'm not jealous!" she assured him, even though her protestations made her sound terribly jealous indeed. "It's nothing to do with me, it was ages ago, that's fine, I get it. I just... y'know... I don't think I'm what you're used to - and that's a little unnerving," she admitted. He nodded.

"You're right. You're definitely not what I'm used to, and you have no idea what a good thing that is," he answered, firmly.

"That's very sweet, but you're just trying to make me feel better," she replied.

"It's working, isn't it?" he asked. She paused for a moment.

"Yes."

"Listen, Rach. Do you know where Anna is at this precise moment?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her shoulder softly.

"No," she answered, trembling a little and not particularly caring where anyone else was.

"Neither do I. I don't know, and I really don't care. What I do care about, though, is the fact that there's definitely far more space between us right now than there should be," he told her, his voice soft and a little hoarse.

"Well you're right next to me, isn't that close enough?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Not nearly."

"Aren't you bored of me?" she inquired.

"C'mere and I'll show you how bored I am," he invited. She frowned.

"I don't feel very reassured by that offer," she answered.

"Don't argue," he ordered, kissing her.

They decided later on that they'd have an adventure out in Mayfair. Rachel had never really been to that part of London before and thought if she was with Gordon she'd be brave enough to go into shops that she could never normally afford to even walk past.

After a pleasant morning making a sizeable dent in Gordon's credit card which resulted in, amongst other things, Rachel being able to add real diamonds to her jewellery collection, they decided to take lunch at the Savoy, as Rachel had joked about it on the phone to Gordon and he didn't want to disappoint her.

Rachel wasn't used to a lifestyle where people just bought whatever they thought looked pretty, or where they'd go into a restaurant and not order the cheapest thing on the menu along with a glass of water and two straws. It was utterly alien to her, but she had to admit she thought she could happily get used to it very quickly indeed. She had told Gordon off for spoiling her and he'd just ignored her, which at first had made her a little upset but she thought it would be completely impossible to stay annoyed with him for too long. Even if he was completely impossible and awkward, and even if he laughed too much and distracted her from everything while they were out in Mayfair by kissing her or touching her and making her forget that there was anything else in the world aside from the two of them. Not even that made her particularly angry with him for very long. She must be going soft in her old age, that's all there was to it.

They were just enjoying the last two glasses of champagne from the bottle when all of a sudden someone started shouting from behind them.

"Rachel?" a voice began. Rachel's face fell and she cringed visibly.

"Oh, shit," she muttered. Gordon frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, let's just get out of here," she pleaded, standing up and grabbing her handbag.

"What's wrong?" he asked, confused, standing up and taking hold of her hand.

"Rachel!" the voice continued. Gordon looked at Rachel questioningly.

"Someone's calling you," he needlessly pointed out.

"I know, that's why we need to go," she explained, looking more uncomfortable by the moment.

"Rachel!" the voice repeated, until finally someone grabbed hold of Rachel's arm. It was a tall, dark-haired man with steel-blue eyes and classically handsome features. He reminded Gordon a little of Scott, if Scott was thinner, less handsome and more sober. Rachel looked at Gordon, her expression silently pleading for a rescue from a situation she clearly didn't want to be in.

"Rach! Dear God! I thought it was you!" the man told her. His tone was friendly but his expression was hard and sinister.

"Oh! Danny! I didn't see you there," she lied, looking meaningfully at Gordon.

"It's been - how long?" Danny asked. Gordon couldn't quite if this 'Danny' character was just too dumb to realise when a girl clearly didn't want him around her or if he was just a creep.

"Not long enough," Rachel answered, quickly. Danny laughed heartily and Gordon was almost completely overtaken by a desire to punch him in the face.

"Oh, you always were a tease. Three years, isn't it? What are you doing in Mayfair?" Danny inquired.

"I could ask you the same question. But I don't think I care enough," Rachel answered. Gordon watched with interest. She didn't really look as though she needed any help.

"Me? I'm working, darling," Danny told her.

"That makes a nice change, doesn't it?" she answered.

"Now, now, there's no need to be sarcastic."

"Are they paying you in money this time or did they just offer you free vodka again?" she asked, feigning a remote degree of concern. Gordon cleared his throat and Rachel looked at him. "My goodness, I'm sorry. This is, uhm... my... erm..." she stammered, not too sure how to describe her relationship with Gordon. If, in fact, there was a relationship to describe at all.

"Work colleague," Gordon supplied with a nod. Rachel nodded her agreement.

"Yes that's right, he works for the WASPs as well. Danny, this is Gordon. Gordon, meet Danny, my, erm-"

"Husband," Danny interrupted. Gordon didn't react. Rachel made a mental note to never play poker with him.

"Ex-husband," Rachel corrected him, emphasising the 'ex'. Gordon nodded his head once, now completely up to speed with what was going on and officially placing Danny in a category of humans that Gordon had labelled 'Miscellaneous Jerk-Offs'.

"I see," Gordon replied, a benign smile fixed to his lips as his eyes hardened. He shook Danny's hand firmly and Danny winced as Gordon had purposely gripped his hand too tightly. Rachel suddenly felt a little wobbly and she wasn't too sure why.

"So, what brings the two of you to Mayfair?" Danny asked.

"Public transport, the same as everyone else, I suppose," Rachel shot back at him. Danny didn't take his eyes off Gordon, but Gordon returned his glare with a finite amount of disinterest. The fact Danny towered at least six inches above Gordon didn't faze him in the least. He was used to getting the upper hand over men taller than him on a regular basis.

"Work colleagues?" Danny asked. Gordon nodded.

"That's right. I'm an aquanaut for the WASPs," he answered.

"You're hardly colleagues, then, are you? Why would an aquanaut be taking a secretary to lunch?" Danny demanded.

"That's none of your-" Rachel began, but Gordon silenced her by briefly stroking the inside of her wrist.

"Because he hopes that someday she might let him take a look at her secret files," he interrupted, his eyes glinting briefly. "Why else does any guy take a girl out to lunch?" he inquired.

"Girl?" Danny repeated with a laugh. "I think it's been a long time since Rachel could be classed as a 'girl'."

"I'd totally forgotten how charming you are," Rachel replied, smiling sweetly at him.

"You said ex-husband, right?" Gordon checked. Danny shuffled uncomfortably.

"Well, I-"

"It must really suck to be you, man," Gordon finished with a disparaging chuckle as he placed his hand firmly on the small of Rachel's back and half-pushed her outside. "That guy's a real asshole," he declared.

"I'm so sorry," she began. He shook his head.

"I'm not. I'm glad you're not with that creep," he told her, his eyes still flashing angrily from their encounter.

"Why?"

"Because you should be with me instead," he answered, simply. Rachel's jaw dropped.

"Take me back to the hotel right now," she insisted. He frowned.

"What for?" he asked. Rachel grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close to her.

"Anything you like, Gordon," she answered softly, her lips brushing gently against his neck. "_Anything_ you like." He pulled away and looked up at her for a moment or two, poker-faced again, before nodding decisively at her.

"Taxi!" he called out, waving frantically at the nearest black cab.


	7. Chapter Seven - The First Goodbye

_**A/N:** And now for something completely different... or, at least, time for a slight change of pace. I'd hate for you to get bored of this story before it's even nearly half-way through, after all! A bit nerve-wracking, but I've actually attempted to unleash my inner romantic this time round. Very slightly, anyway, I don't want to give myself a headache. _

_Hankies at the ready, folks, as our favourite twosome have to put each other down at last and trudge back home - alone. Of course, they're not _bothered _about it__, it's not like they're really _smitten_ with each other or anything... Oh, whatever, we all know what's going on! Even if they're too stupid to see it!_

**Chapter Seven - The First Goodbye**

Gordon had been awake for twenty minutes and was sat up in bed trying his best to figure out how to wangle an extra day's leave, even though he knew he couldn't. He'd watched the sunrise, but he was too comfortable where he was to get up. The beds at Claridges were even more comfortable than the NASA beds John had tested a few years ago, for reasons that nobody was too sure of at the time. They'd delivered one to the family home in Kansas and John hadn't had chance to get a look in as Gordon had commandeered the bed for himself. His verdict had been that for bouncing, they scored zero out of five, but for comfort they rated at least a six. John wasn't sure that NASA were too interested in how good their beds were for bouncing on, but Gordon had insisted he reported the information back to them anyway.

He looked down at Rachel, who was sleeping soundly, her hair splayed out on the pillow around her, her lips turned upwards at the corners into an unconscious smile. Before he could think about anything else, he caught himself wishing he could wake up to seeing her face every morning. _'Stop it! Don't be stupid. She's just a girl,'_ Gordon thought to himself. _'You can't let her get to you. It's for the best. You can't let her get too close to you - what about International Rescue? There's a bigger picture, here! It can't all be about how you feel. Can it?'_

Without thinking, he reached out his hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face so he could see her better.

"You aren't supposed to watch me sleep," she muttered, her eyes still closed. Gordon smiled softly.

"I'm sorry."

"You'll only start thinking that you like me," she warned him. He shook his head.

"Nah. I don't have the capacity for sentiment," he assured her.

"No big words before coffee," she mumbled, rolling onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow and arching her back as she stretched and yawned. Gordon tilted his head slightly as he gazed at her back. She had two freckles underneath her left shoulderblade. There were no other blemishes or marks on her back, just those two freckles that seemed to be placed there entirely at random. He leaned over and kissed them gently. "What was that for?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just thought I'd say good morning," he answered. She grinned and rolled onto her back to look up at him.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said. He beamed at her.

"Hey, you," he replied, barely above a whisper.

"Come here," she insisted, pulling gently at his shoulder to make him lie down. He wordlessly obeyed her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. "I wish it wasn't Sunday," she began, then tensed up as she realised she'd said something she hadn't meant to. "I don't want to go to work tomorrow," she added, trying to shift focus from the fact they had to say goodbye later on.

"It won't be tomorrow for a while yet," he told her, stroking her hair. She paused for a moment before replying.

"No. I suppose not," she agreed, kissing his chest.

An uncomfortable silence settled upon them. Rachel wasn't sure whether or not she should fall back asleep, despite being ridiculously comfortable and desperate to avoid a conversation that she didn't want. Gordon had no idea what to say that wouldn't make everything more awkward than it already was. He squeezed her shoulder tightly as he pressed her even closer into him.

What could he say to her that wouldn't make him sound like a louse? _'Hey, it's been fun - have a safe journey home, see you never!'_? _'I've got to go live like a monk the other side of the world with my family now and save lives for a living, but it's all for the greater good of mankind. I'm sure you understand.'_? Was there a way to actually broach the subject at all without their entire weekend being ruined?

"I don't want you to go," he heard himself say. He was sure one of the other statements would have been a better choice. Especially when he heard a moan of protest to what he'd hoped was a rather romantic declarative statement.

"Oh, Gordon, please! Don't. Don't," she begged him, running her hand up his chest and along his neck and jawline before placing her index finger firmly over his lips. "This wasn't what we agreed."

"I'm sorry."

"We had a deal, didn't we?" she asked, pushing herself up onto her arms before resting her chest on his so she could see him properly. "This is just going to be it, isn't it? One weekend and nothing more. That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"I know," he agreed, quietly, feeling a little too conscious of the fact he could feel her heartbeat on top of his own.

"I thought this was what you wanted. No strings, no hassle, no worries?" she reminded him.

"What if I was wrong?" he asked. She had no idea what on earth she could say or do by way of a reply to that question.

"What do you want me to say?" she inquired at last. He shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt so sad or so serious about anything. "Is this what you want?"

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighed. "It isn't about what I want, is it? It isn't about what either of us want. We have to be practical. This won't work. You know it won't. You live the other side of the world and we both have full-time, high-pressured jobs to do. Neither of us will fit in with the other's world. We can't afford to get attached to each other. You know I'm right, don't you? It's for the best if we just leave it like this, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I don't know how leaving it like this can be the right thing to do," he told her, truthfully. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Rach, I don't want to leave you," he insisted. She shook her head.

"One of us will get hurt if you keep this up - and I don't think it'll be you. Please. Please don't do this to me," she begged.

"Tell me you don't want to see me again," he insisted.

"What?"

"Tell me you don't want to see me again and we'll drop the whole thing," he said. She looked at him helplessly.

"I... I can't tell you that," she finally stammered.

"Why?"

"Because the thought of not seeing you again scares the shit out of me," she told him. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Good," he answered. He traced his fingers slowly over her throat and neck, looking her over intently and trying to commit every inch of her face to memory, then kissed her softly. Her brain started turning to utter mush as she felt his hands firmly running over her skin before rolling her onto her back. She ran her fingers through his slightly-too-long hair and kissed him deeply as she locked her legs around his hips. She couldn't help but feel differently about the way he touched her, as though this time he had far more on his mind than just his usual keen desire to get down to business. He was taking his time with her, there was something more sweet and tender about his touch this time. It was as though he wanted to remember every last moment of what they knew would be their last time together, possibly ever. She suddenly felt completely overwhelmed by what was going on and found she couldn't breathe.

"Stop," she breathed, gasping desperately for air.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, planting a warm trail of kisses across her ribcage and up towards the centre of her chest.

"Don't," she pleaded, grabbing him firmly by his shoulders and pushing him away. He frowned briefly.

"Don't what? We've already done this a million times," he reminded her. She shook her head.

"No. No, we haven't. Listen, if this is just meant to be sex, let's just leave it at that. Don't change things now and make love to me, because that's not the same thing and you know it isn't," she told him.

"I know it isn't. I know. But don't let's pretend like just sex is enough right now," he answered. She blushed bright pink and avoided his gaze for a few moments until her heart stopped thundering quite so loudly in her ears. She swallowed hard and gazed unblinkingly into his eyes.

"I've had my heart broken enough times, Gordon. I don't want that again," she began.

"I don't want that for you, either," he answered.

"I mean it. Please, whatever happens - please don't hurt me." He shook his head.

"I promise. I'll never do anything you don't want me to," he murmured. He squeezed her throat faintly as he gently ran his thumb along her jawline and then across her lips before kissing her so lightly she could barely feel his lips touching hers.

"I don't really want you to stop at all," she whispered, tracing her fingertips softly down his back.

Neither of them felt as though they were quite ready to leave the hotel. Rachel checked the bathroom and the rest of the suite at least seven times before they finally had to leave because she was sure she'd left something behind. Gordon was the only one who remembered she'd promised to steal a towel for Mark and proceeded to accidentally leave his sunglasses behind, but fortunately Alfred managed to run out and catch him just as he was getting into the Bentley.

The journey back to the airport was a lot quieter and a lot less amorous than the journey to the hotel. They were both understandably tired, but still hadn't quite figured out what they were going to do about seeing each other again. Twelve months was a very long time, and Rachel knew that even though Gordon had promised in an empassioned moment of whimsy that he wanted to see her again, the logistics of the situation did seem a little hopeless.

"It's going to be difficult to not see you for another year," she told him, seriously. He squeezed her hand.

"Don't," he answered, shaking his head. "Don't."

"I don't want to - I have to. Maybe we should just accept that this... this _thing_, that isn't actually anything anyway - maybe we should just admit this really isn't going to go anywhere. Maybe we should just accept all we are is a great weekend in London together," she suggested.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked, looking at her forlornly. She shook her head and shrugged.

"I just don't see what else we can do," she admitted.

"Don't decide anything just yet," he answered. She unbuckled her seat belt and shimmied up next to him, squeezed his thigh gently and rested her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders.

Rachel decided as soon as they got to the departure lounge that airports weren't jolly places after all. They were cold and miserable and drizzly and they made people leave each other and go back to real life before either of them were ready to. And the coffee was dreadful.

"I... erm..." she began, faltering and discovering she was unable to finish her sentence. She turned away from him and clamped her lips together, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. She only knew one thing at that precise moment, and that was that she didn't want to say goodbye to him at all. Gordon pulled her close to him and enveloped her in a hug.

"Come on, don't make this difficult," he told her. She cleared her throat and swallowed before taking a deep breath and pulling away from him.

"I'm sorry. Well, I suppose this is it, then?" she asked, wiping a rogue tear away with her shaking fingers and deliberately avoiding eye contact with him.

"I guess so," he agreed with a nod.

"Are we both okay with this?" she asked. He paused.

"Why don't you tell me?" he requested.

"Because I don't know if you feel the same way," she replied honestly.

"Are you okay with this?" he asked her. She paused before shaking her head slowly, looking at him with large, sad eyes.

"Are you?" She was almost afraid of what his answer would be, no matter what he said.

"No." he sighed. "No I'm not. Leaving you behind feels like the shittiest thing I've ever done in my life," he admitted.

"It doesn't feel right," she agreed. She bit her lip thoughtfully for a few moments, mulling an idea over in her mind before plucking up the courage to continue. "Look. I know you can't come back here for another twelve months. And I know this can only ever be a casual thing between us. That's absolutely fine. But... next time you're in England, even if it's on business, just call me. Just to say hello. We don't even have to see each other. Maybe... maybe I can just be your very vague bit of British stuff," she suggested. Gordon raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"You'd take that?" he asked. She nodded.

"Can you come up with a better compromise? We can't be together, but being apart isn't going to work either - so what else can we do?" she retorted.

"Look. Don't... don't sit around the house waiting for a call, Rach. Sometimes work... sometimes it might get where I can't call you, or-"

"You don't have to explain, I completely understand. That's fine. Work's important, I know that as well as you do. If you can't call, you can't call, it's nothing personal. I get it. Honestly. I won't worry, I won't complain, I won't fuss. I'll just be here when you're ready," she decided with a firm nod.

"That isn't fair," he protested. She looked at him sharply.

"To whom?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To You'm," he shot back at her. She chuckled.

"It'd be a lot less fair if you got on that plane and buggered off to fuck knows where and I never saw you again," she pointed out. He definitely didn't have a counter-argument to that statement.

"I don't want to go," he sighed.

"I don't want you to go either," she told him.

"Maybe I could take you back with me?" he suggested hopefully. She chuckled and shook her head.

"Don't be daft, I've got work in the morning. And so do you. The security of the entire world depends upon you, little man, don't let them down," she reminded him, squeezing his arm softly. Gordon smiled sadly and nodded. She didn't even know how right she was, but she was definitely right.

"If I can't get away again before the year's up - remember this date, Rach. I want you to meet me here on this date next year," he insisted. She nodded.

"I'll be there," she promised.

"Mr Tracy?" a voice asked. Gordon turned around and saw a member of the airport staff walk towards him.

"Yes?"

"First class is boarding now, sir," she told him. He smiled at her.

"I'll be right there, thank you," he told her. She walked away and he turned back to Rachel. "I think I've already started to miss you," he began. She shook her head.

"Don't make this difficult," she instructed. He swallowed and looked briefly at the floor before looking back up at her and forcing a cheerful grin.

"Okay."

"You'd better kiss me right now," she decided, pulling him towards her by the lapels of his jacket and kissing him forcefully. "Go on. Go home. I've had enough of you."

"I hate goodbyes," he told her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her lips softly. She tried to ignore her wobbling knees and somersaulting stomach, without much success.

"Don't tell me goodbye, then. Tell me you'll see me next year," she suggested. His right cheek dimpled as he gave her a half-smile and she really wasn't too sure what to say or do for the best.

"Be good," he told her.

"Nah," she replied, crinkling her nose in distaste as she shook her head and giggled.

With a grin and a wink, Gordon disappeared off to Passport Control. Rachel stared sadly at the empty spot he'd just vacated. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her hands over her arms to warm herself up.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she swallowed heavily and turned to leave. Just a boy. He was just a boy. She'd probably never see him again. She'd forget him before she knew it, there was no problem there.

She didn't know who she was trying to kid, but at that moment she realised that she had even stopped fooling herself.

"Shit," she muttered angrily, wishing she had something convenient to kick in her frustration.


	8. Chapter Eight - The Comedown

_**A/N: **Firstly, I'd like to say thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (honestly - ALL of you - I was amazed I got so many reviews!). I was terribly worried about the change of pace, and the slightly more soppy edge to it. It isn't like me at all, as you know. Distressingly , there's sort of more of the same in this chapter, I'm afraid, except possibly a teeny bit more sad. I know, I'm a pain for doing this to you, I'm sorry. I promise it's only for one chapter and then I'll be silly again. Honestly. "Would I lie to you, baby, would I lie to you?" as those lyrical virtuosos, Charles & Eddy, sang in 1990?!_

**Chapter Eight - The Comedown**

**Pacific Airspace**

Gordon was now on his fourth plane, after he'd had to change at Chicago and San Antonio before Tin-Tin picked him up at a private airfield near Honolulu to take him back to Tracy Island. Suffice to say, it had been a really long day, and he couldn't remember which time-zone he was in or which meal he should be looking forward to next.

His usual ready smile had disappeared completely. He looked tired and pale, and he ached everywhere. His shoulders ached, his neck ached, the small of his back ached, his knees ached, the tendons in his thighs felt as though they'd been replaced by red-hot pokers and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep for a year. A year would be good. A year would be just long enough to recover so he could get back on those four planes so that he could see Rachel again.

No. A year without her was still too long to wait.

He sat quietly in the passenger seat beside Tin-Tin, gazing forlornly at his hands. He thought of Rachel's hands, how even though she was taller than him her hands were so much smaller than his, yet they still fit into his perfectly. She bit her nails too far down and cracked her knuckles when she was nervous. Her hands were soft but firm, and he loved the feel of her fingertips against his bare skin so much that the memory of it gave him goosebumps. He wished he could hold her hand right at that moment.

"Well...?" Tin-Tin began, breaking the silence as she glanced over at Gordon. He didn't answer her at first and she frowned slightly. "Gordon? Are you all right?" she asked, reaching over and prodding him in the arm, snapping him out of his trance.

"Sure. Yeah. Great," he answered, sitting up straight in his chair and flashing Tin-Tin a winning smile. She smiled softly back at him.

"How did it go?" she asked. He shrugged and looked out of the window again, a little disinterested.

"Yeah. Okay, I guess. London's always an exciting place, right?" he asked, carelessly.

"Never mind London, I want to hear all about the girl you saw. What's she like?" Tin-Tin demanded. Gordon pursed his lips for a moment or two while he gave her question some serious thought and then nodded decisively when the word he was searching for came to him.

"Limber," he replied. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Gordon!" she exclaimed, not sure she really needed to know quite _that _much about his weekend. "I don't mean that! What's she like?" she asked. He thought for a moment again before deciding on another word.

"Energetic."

"You're being silly now," she sighed.

"I'm not! Those are two very important qualities, right there!" he protested.

"You mean you didn't say a word to each other? I find that very difficult to believe, especially knowing that one of the people we're talking about in this scenario was you!" she pointed out.

"Of course we said things to each other," he answered, loftily, although his eyes gleamed wickedly before he continued speaking. "They were mostly a series of guttural moans and unintelligible exclamations of delight, but you know, occasionally-"

"Really, Gordon, you're the limit!" Tin-Tin retorted, feigning annoyance.

"Oh, you're just jealous!" he told her. She glanced over at him again and laughed.

"What of, exactly?" she demanded.

"I don't know, it seemed like a good put-down at the time!" he admitted.

"Do you think you'll see her again?" Tin-Tin asked. Gordon shrugged.

"I dunno. I gave up my shore leave for a year so I could go see her... a year's a long time," he pointed out. "She'll probably forget me." Tin-Tin's eyes widened at the notion that Gordon could even think such a thing about himself.

"She'll forget you? How?"

"I'm sure she'll find a way," he answered quietly, a rueful smile taking over his face.

"It isn't like you to be quite so negative about how a girl feels about you. You like her, don't you?" she asked.

"Of course I like her, I've just spent the weekend with her!" he answered.

"No, you _really_ like her," she pressed. He sighed impatiently.

"Again, I refer you to the fact I've just spent the weekend with her," he replied, nonchalantly.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"Love? Now you're being ridiculous. I've only known her for a week!" he reminded her. Tin-Tin shook her head.

"If you didn't like her so much, you wouldn't be worried that she'll forget you," she argued.

"Who says I'm worried?" he demanded.

"I know you, Gordon. Don't forget that," she answered. This really annoyed Gordon. He hated those sorts of statements. They didn't really say anything more than the completely obvious, they weren't cryptic at all. Of course, Tin-Tin knew this, which is why she'd said it. She felt as though she had to elicit some sort of reaction from him somehow.

"How can I forget that?" he demanded. "Of course you know me, you live with us - _and_ you use up all the hot water every morning with your two-hour early morning routine. Do you know what you and John do to the water supplies of the southern hemisphere every time Alan goes on satellite duty?" he asked. Tin-Tin had definitely known Gordon for far too long to get annoyed by anything he said - especially when she was too busy trying not to laugh at his unparalleled way with words.

"We live on an island, there's a whole ocean around us," she pointed out. "And don't change the subject," she insisted.

"Just trying to get you to save the planet a little," he answered sulkily, folding his arms across his chest. "We're meant to be a rescue outfit, after all!"

"What's her name?" Tin-Tin asked, after a brief silence.

"Who?" he asked, purely to be difficult. Tin-Tin narrowed her eyes at him.

"Gordon," she began, sternly.

"No, _I'm_ Gordon," he told her, purposely being awkward. She rolled her eyes again and sighed heavily.

"What's the name of the energetic, limber girl you've just spent two days with?" she asked, slowly and carefully.

"Oh, her! Her name's Rachel," he answered.

"Is she pretty?"

"She's... yeah I guess she's pretty," he replied, suddenly thinking of how much he liked the way she'd glance at the floor and then look up at him ever so slowly before she kissed him. That was quite pretty, he thought.

"You guess?" Tin-Tin repeated in disbelief.

"I dunno. I mean, I know her too well to be objective about it. She's pretty to me, but I guess some cross-eyed ignoramus with no taste in women mightn't see it," he explained, then thought of a good example to distract Tin-Tin with. "Like Alan. She's not Alan's type. But then she has style, manners, a sense of humour and a brain so she's way out of his league anyway. And probably mine too, for that matter, although I don't think she noticed."

"What does she look like?" Tin-Tin asked, completely disregarding everything he'd just said about his younger brother.

"Just like a girl. One's pretty much like the next, right?" Gordon asked. Tin-Tin frowned. It definitely wasn't like Gordon to be quite so secretive about anything, or to change the subject or pretend he didn't care about something when he really did. Everyone always knew where they stood with Gordon and it was one of the things Tin-Tin liked best about him. She didn't like how awkward he sounded. Perhaps he was just tired. He definitely looked like he'd had a strenuous couple of days, anyway.

"Stop it. You know you're not like this at all, you aren't fooling anyone! Don't try to be some sort of bastard Lothario - you're too nice for that!" she insisted. Gordon sighed.

"I should be a bastard Lothario, they seem to get a pretty good deal of things," he retorted, sadly.

"You miss her already, don't you?"

"Tin-Tin, I've had a busy weekend, do we have to do this now?" he groaned, wishing he could parachute out of the plane and swim the last few hundred miles back to the Island.

"We can either do it now or wait till we get back to the Island and you can tell your grandmother all about it," she answered, firmly. Gordon let out a cry of anguish, buried his face in his hands and counted to ten silently.

"Fine!" he relented. "She's about five-nine, she's got brown eyes, blonde hair, she smiles a lot and she's got a _really_ nice pair of-"

"All right, all right!" Tin-Tin interrupted, holding a hand up in protest.

"You asked!" he reminded her. "They are great though," he added, blinking once or twice as he remembered them. Tin-Tin chose to ignore his last comment, although she couldn't help but notice his sad expression as he looked out of the window.

"What's the matter?" she asked, gently.

"Nothing. It's just... no matter which way you cut it, a year's a really, _really_ long time, isn't it?" he answered.

"You suggested it," she reminded him. He nodded.

"I know I did. I just wanted to see her again, and I couldn't think of anything else to say to make Dad let me go," he admitted. "I didn't think... I... I guess I've messed up, haven't I?"

"I don't know, Gordon. If she looks as miserable right now as you do, I'd say you're both crazy about each other and you're probably both too stubborn or too dumb to admit it," she replied, honestly.

"I'm not miserable!" he protested. "I've missed home. Y'know, the sun, the ocean, the... the sunshine and the water, and... the pool... and..." he faltered as he tried in vain to think of anything he missed that didn't involve Rachel.

"Grandma's maple pecan pie," Tin-Tin supplied.

"And Grandma's maple pecan pie, how could I forget that?" he asked, absently.

"Because you hate maple pecan pie and you were too busy thinking about Rachel to actually concentrate on what I was saying," Tin-Tin answered. He looked up at her sharply, his brow furrowed together in confusion.

"Did we definitely say maple pecan?" he asked. She nodded.

"We did."

"Oh. Are you sure?" he checked.

"For God's sake, tell me you're going to call her when you get home?" she pleaded. He shook his head firmly.

"Nah. I'll leave it a few days. I don't want her to think she's got to me," he decided.

"She has though, hasn't she?" Tin-Tin realised. Gordon's shoulders dropped, he hung his head forwards and nodded, almost feeling a little angry with Rachel.

"Yeah, she has, the sneaky little bitch! I'd hate her if she wasn't so nice!" he insisted, completely untruthfully. "Maybe I won't call her, just to serve her right," he suggested. Tin-Tin raised one eyebrow and shook her head.

"Ten dollars says you won't even wait ten minutes to call her when you get home," she retorted. He nodded confidently.

"You're on."

**Muswell Hill, London**

Rachel stumbled through the front door of her flat, threw her keys onto the hall table and leaned heavily against her door. She glanced at the phone on the table and saw that there were three voicemail messages waiting for her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Not now," she muttered, heading straight to her bedroom. She dropped her overnight case on the floor, opened her handbag and took out the small black box containing the diamond bracelet that Gordon had bought her. She opened it, traced the tip of her forefinger over the diamonds, and then placed the open box carefully on her bedside table. She threw her duvet back and got into bed, fully clothed.

She wrapped the duvet completely around herself, like a Swiss roll. Even though she felt safe and comfortable in her own bed, and even though her duvet was thick, warm and cosy, somehow lying in bed without Gordon's arms around her felt cold and miserable. If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, she could almost feel how strong, warm and comfortable his arms were, as though nothing in the world could possibly hurt her so long as she stayed there. She remembered how she felt in his embrace, that although he was slightly shorter than she was, she still seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, as though his entire body seemed to mould itself around her. She screwed her eyes shut and imagined that she could feel his gentle breathing on her bare shoulders as he slept soundly beside her. She could practically taste his lips against hers, and felt her skin tingle right down to the tips of her toes as she remembered the way those lips had so sweetly and lovingly caressed every last inch of her.

"I miss you," she whispered. With practically no further warning, she burst into tears and sobbed loudly and painfully until, completely exhausted, she fell fast asleep.

Hours later, Mark wandered over to her flat and let himself in.

"Only me!" he called out. There was no response and he went straight into her bedroom. "You asleep?" he whispered loudly, turning the light on and waking her up. The crumpled up duvet that had camouflaged Rachel so well seemed to magically curl up into an even tighter ball and let out a cry of panic. "It's me, you fool!" he assured her, shaking her roughly by what he assumed was an arm underneath the duvet.

"You idiot!" she yelled angrily, finally poking her head out from beneath the bedclothes and not caring how messy her hair looked or how badly smudged her mascara was.

"I've been waiting to hear about your adventures all day!" he insisted, leaning over to her bedside table, picking up the diamond bracelet and letting out a low whistle as he examined it.

"I've been sleeping them off!" she told him. "Or at least I was trying to before some ugly great brute came in and woke me up! You know, I could've been really ill, or I could've been... I don't know - but you should've knocked!" she ranted. "It isn't fair just popping in unannounced all the time!"

"I do it every day, you've never complained yet!" he reminded her. She let out a 'hmph' of frustration.

"Well maybe I should do," she snapped. She sighed heavily and rubbed her hands over her face. "I'm sorry," she told him in a muffled voice. "I'm just... I don't know." Her voice was getting more high-pitched and cracked as she tried to hold the tears back. Mark wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, my darling girl. You've had a busy few days," he told her gently. She shook her head and pulled away from him.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a bit tired," she replied.

"You've been crying," he realised.

"No. Just allergies."

"You aren't allergic to anything," he reminded her. She looked sharply at him and narrowed her eyes.

"Leave me my pride, Gregson," she answered, quietly. He tilted his head to the side and looked appraisingly at her.

"It's the boy, isn't it?" he asked. Rachel blushed and looked away.

"What is?" she asked, innocently.

"You've fallen for him," Mark answered, simply.

"Don't be stupid," she replied dismissively, shaking her head in contempt.

"You have, haven't you?"

"Why would I have fallen for him?" she asked, defensively. Mark held up the jewellery box in front of her.

"Oh, I don't know, let me think about it," he began, sarcastically. "When he met you at the airport even I could see he didn't notice that anyone else was there, he couldn't take his eyes off you. You've stayed in Mayfair with him for two nights, you're clearly exhausted after getting up to God knows what with him - and he's bought you a diamond bracelet. From bloody Hancocks & Co," he added, after pausing dramatically for effect. Rachel rolled her eyes and growled in frustration.

"Mark, just because he's stupidly rich and in-fucking-credible in bed - that's not enough to make someone fall for someone else," she reminded him.

"Are you joking? From that description alone, I think I've fallen for him myself and he's not even gay!" he retorted.

"Well, we aren't all you," she answered, wincing at her uncharacteristic rudeness before the words even left her mouth. Mark had been her friend for far too long to be offended by what he knew was just exhaustion and emotion talking. He pulled her back into his arms and hugged her again.

"No, darling. But we are all human," he reminded her. "When was the last time anyone made you feel this good about yourself?" he asked. She shook her head stubbornly.

"That isn't the point. It's not real. It can't be," she argued. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Because that sort of thing doesn't happen to girls like you?" he inquired.

"No, because that sort of thing just doesn't happen in real life. Not to me, not to you, not to anybody," she answered, firmly. "He'll forget about me in a week." Mark sighed and shook his head in despair.

"Rachel, my love, if his face is even half as miserable as yours is right now, I can guarantee it'll take more than a week for him to forget about you," he assured her.

"I bet he's forgotten me already. He promised he'd call me when he got home, I bet he doesn't even bother," Rachel decided.

"A tenner says he calls," Mark told her. She looked at him.

"Make it twenty," she bargained. He grabbed hold of her hand and shook it firmly.

"You're on."

Right on cue, the phone rang. They looked at each other, more than a little surprised by how uncanny the timing had been.

"I might have to owe it you," she muttered, picking the phone up. "Hello?"

"It's me," Gordon began. She was so excited by the sound of his voice that she felt a little queasy and it took her a few seconds too long to reply to him. "Rach?" he asked, a little concerned.

"I'm here. I... thought it might be you," she replied, carefully.

"I owe Tin-Tin ten bucks," he told her.

"Who's Tin-Tin?" Rachel asked, trying not to sound either suspicious or jealous but failing miserably. He chuckled softly.

"Don't worry, she's just my brother's girlfriend," he assured her. "She bet me ten bucks I couldn't wait to call you when I got home."

"I owe Mark twenty quid, he bet me you couldn't wait to call me either," she confessed. Gordon let out a groan of resignation.

"Jesus, I'm predictable!" he declared.

"Not to me, I didn't think you'd call at all," she admitted.

"I promised, didn't I?" Gordon reminded her, a little hurt.

"Yeah, but especially now I know there was a bet, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't," she answered.

"Ah, you're worth it."

"Crawler," she teased. They both giggled.

"Well, I just thought I'd say goodnight and let you know none of the planes I boarded crashed into the sea," he told her, matter-of-factly. She smiled and shook her head at his flippancy.

"That's quite a relief, thank you," she replied. After an brief and awkward silence, Gordon cleared his throat.

"I'd better go. Sleep tight, honey," he told her. Rachel beamed helplessly.

"You too. Goodnight," she answered.

"Night."

Rachel clamped her lips together and looked up at Mark, not even too sure how she felt at that precise moment. "That dirty ginger bastard has totally wormed his way in - I thought my little granite heart could withstand him! God, I hate him!" she declared, angrily. Her reaction surprised both of them. She definitely didn't think she felt angry about the situation - but what did she know, she was probably just exhausted and hysterical.

"What terrible thing did he do?" he asked, concerned. Her face melted into an idiotic grin and she sighed dramatically.

"He called me 'honey'!" she whimpered, pressing her hand flat against her chest. "In Kansan!"

"Oh my god, do not tell me that your boyfriend is from Kansas!" Mark exclaimed. Rachel frowned at him.

"He's not my boyfriend," she reminded him, a little angrily. Mark rolled his eyes and shook his head dismissively.

"Whatever," he answered, carelessly. "Anyway, I do believe a bet is a bet, am I right?" he asked, holding his hand out to Rachel. She grinned at him, sure that she would have completely lost her mind already if he hadn't been there with her.

"I think we both deserve a bottle of wine and a Chinese tonight!" she decided. "My treat, eh?" she offered. Mark nodded eagerly.

"I'll get the menu," he decided, rolling off her bed with a spectacular flourish and heading to her living room.


	9. Chapter Nine - The Webcam

_**A/N: **I'm sorry I'm a bit late with this. RL has been a little awkward this week. But fear not, I am now back, and I promise I won't leave you waiting quite so long for the next chapter. The John and Virgil Show was written expressly for the mirth of **Teobi** and **LexietFive** but I really hope you all enjoy it._

_**NB: ** There probably will not be a James Bond film called **Blofeld Reborn**. My favourite Bond is Timothy Dalton, for the record. It's a wacky choice, I know, but there you go. "Lucy and Ramona" are the lead female characters in a song called **Cruisin'**, written by the genius that is **Michael Nesmith**._

**Chapter Nine - The Webcam**

Gordon hadn't actually returned to Tracy Villa when he called Rachel, he had literally just stepped off the plane and was still in the hangar. He was so tired that he didn't bother to return to the living room to say hello to anyone, he went straight to bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep for... he didn't even know how long he had slept for. By the time he woke up, the house was in darkness and he had no idea what time it was.

"This is why you don't go to bed right away, you big jerk," he grumbled to himself as he rolled out of bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, yawned heartily and checked the time on his phone. Ten thirty. He'd definitely missed dinner and had now succeeded in completely screwing up his body clock for a day or two.

He wandered through to the living room where he found John and Virgil watching a movie. He'd almost forgotten that John had also returned home that day from satellite duty and he looked almost as exhausted as Gordon himself did. They were watching their favourite James Bond film, _Blofeld Reborn_, and he took a moment or two to listen into their Obligatory Bond Argument.

"It's got to be Daniel Craig," John told him. "Those cold blue eyes, they were real deadly assassin eyes - and he was the first Blond Bond. You gotta admit, he had a great body too."

"Nah, you're kidding, if you're gonna have a Bond it's gotta be someone like Brosnan. The guy was Irish. All he had to do was say 'thirty-three' and the chicks'd be on their backs!" Virgil argued. "Although Craig was totally ripped. You wouldn't catch Moore looking that good naked."

"Connery was still the coolest, though," John decided. Virgil nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd go Connery too," he agreed. Gordon rolled his eyes and shook his head. All the scenario needed was Tin-Tin and a bucket of ice-cream and it would've been a standard girls' night in.

"Hey," he finally interrupted, on his way through to the kitchen.

"Hey," they replied with a finite degree of disinterest, not turning away from the screen.

"You two want a beer?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. They held up half-empty beer bottles to him, their gazes still fixed intently on the film. "I'll take that as a yes," he added, grabbing three beers from the fridge. He completed a rather athletic leap over the couch so he ended up sitting between the two of them and handed them a beer each.

"So?" John began expectantly as Gordon swigged back his beer. Gordon closed his eyes and sighed, concentrating more on the beer than the question. Finally, he looked at John and shrugged.

"So what?" he asked.

"Oh, c'mon, Gordon, you look like something's chewed you up, changed its mind and spat you out again!" John told him. Gordon chuckled.

"Thanks, buddy. You're looking just as sexy yourself," he replied. John raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm still acclimatising to Earth's atmosphere. You don't have my excuse," he answered, loftily.

"Nah - I got a better one!" Gordon told him, smirking. John shot him a cool glance.

"So I'm told!" he responded. "When do we get to meet her?"

"Who?"

"Who? Only the girl we've all been talking about constantly since you left the Island!" Virgil chipped in. Gordon looked at him and smiled.

"Oh, you mean Rachel?" he realised.

"Rachel. Yes. When do we get to meet Rachel?" John demanded.

"You don't," Gordon replied, firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because... she isn't really a woman?" John guessed. Gordon let out a shout of laughter.

"Of course she's a woman, what do you think she is?" he asked. John shrugged.

"I dunno, you won't let us meet her - how do we know she's even real?" he pointed out.

"What, you think I cooked this whole thing up just to make it look like I can get a girl? I'm not Alan!" Gordon shot back at him.

"Don't tease him, John, he's had a busy couple days," Virgil chided him. Gordon beamed at him.

"Thanks, Virge."

"Besides, we can just ask Tin-Tin and she'll tell us everything anyway," Virgil continued. Gordon looked horrified.

"Whose side are you on?" he demanded.

"Are you kidding?" Virgil asked, pressing his hand against his chest in mock horror. "I'm hurt. You know we're both only interested in your welfare."

"You're only interested because I'm the gossip on the Island right now, aren't you?" Gordon checked.

"Yes," John answered, honestly.

"You know how quickly rumours start around here, Gordon," Virgil pointed out, sitting beside Gordon and draping an arm around his shoulders. Gordon shrugged him off.

"Lay off, will ya?" he protested, folding his arms across his chest sulkily. "And yes, I know how rumours start - you and Grandma are usually the ones who start 'em!" he pointed out. Virgil opened his mouth to protest, but soon thought better of it and gave a shrug of agreement.

"You'll have to give us something, at least," John decided. Gordon pouted.

"Why should I?"

"You want us to tell everyone that Rachel's really a six-foot-four football player named Richard?" Virgil asked. Gordon's eyes widened in horror.

"You wouldn't!" he began. John raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. Gordon looked at Virgil who blinked twice but remained stonefaced. "Jesus, I hate you both!" he grumbled.

"Hey - isn't it time you two ladies went to bed and left Valentino to get his supper?" Scott demanded, strolling into the living room. Gordon let out a sigh of relief.

"It comes to something, Gordon, when you get rescued from an interrogation from the two ugly sisters by The Missing Link," John told him, completely unperturbed by the inappropriate hand gesture Scott responded with.

"Ugly? You speak for yourself!" Virgil answered, haughtily.

"Don't you two have something else to do - like exfoliate?" Scott asked. John chuckled.

"You say it like you know what it is," he shot back at him.

"Beat it!" Scott ordered, giving them both his inherited Jeff Tracy Death Stare. John and Virgil rolled their eyes and sighed dramatically, practically in unison, before getting up from the couch.

"We'll get you, my pretty," Virgil warned him, his eyes gleaming with mischief, before nodding his head towards Scott. "And your overgrown mutt, too!" Gordon burst out laughing as they left the room, but soon calmed down into a nervous silence as he met Scott's gaze. It was quite clear from the look in his eyes that he disapproved entirely of Gordon's weekend away.

"Look, Dad said it was okay. It's nothing to do with you," he began. He instantly regretted it as Scott's frown deepened and his glare became even more stern and disapproving.

"It has nothing to do with me? Oh, I see. So it's absolutely fine for you to go away for a weekend to London and forget all about International Rescue just because you met a girl?" he demanded. Gordon's eyebrows raised indignantly.

"Don't start, Scott. We can't all have our girlfriends come live with us," he answered.

"Girlfriend? I thought she was just a girl?"

"She is just a girl. And she's a nice girl. She's not a threat," Gordon told him. Scott was unconvinced.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know _her_."

"How long have you known her? A week? Forgive me if I'm still a little concerned," Scott replied, sarcastically.

"Listen. I know what you're trying to do, and I know you only care - but back off, all right? Back off," Gordon insisted, starting to finally lose his cool. He could deal with being told he was irresponsible, but he didn't like the idea of Scott suspecting Rachel of being something he knew in his heart she wasn't. "I don't need this. I don't need the third degree from you and I certainly don't need you to tell me that she mightn't be on the level like I'm some kid who believes everything everyone tells him. She knows nothing about International Rescue. She's worked for the WASPs for the last ten years, she's the Personal Assistant to the Director of Operations in the London Division. You think I didn't call in a favour to have her personnel records checked out before I even went to London? I can detail every moment of her life up until eighteen hours ago when I left her at the airport. I'm not an idiot. I do my homework. I wouldn't put either International Rescue or Rachel at risk. I care about both of them too much."

"So you do care about her?" Scott asked. Gordon's shoulders dropped and he looked at the floor.

"Like I say. She's a nice girl," he answered, quietly. "If I tell you she isn't a threat, I mean it. You may not like it, but you have to trust me."

There was a pause which seemed to last forever. Scott knew the dangers, but he had to remind himself that Gordon did, too. He couldn't always be there to save the day. Sometimes there really wasn't any saving to do. Perhaps he was just being over-protective. It wouldn't be the first, or the last time.

"Okay. Go get something to eat and try to go to bed at a reasonable time. You can't live on London time forever, buddy," Scott told him.

"I know, I know," Gordon replied, rolling his eyes. Scott grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the room. Gordon watched him leave with a set smile on his face. As soon as he was sure Scott was gone he sighed and headed to the kitchen.

"Weekend in Mayfair, twelve thousand dollars. Return charter flights to Heathrow, two thousand dollars. Convincing Scott Tracy you've got everything under control when you really don't have a goddam clue - priceless," he muttered to himself. He decided that in the absence of being able to come up with a better plan, he would have another beer, make himself a giant sandwich and see if he could eat himself into a food-induced coma for a day or two. He was a Tracy so it'd probably take some doing, but he drew comfort from the fact that at least he wasn't the family garbage disposal unit like Scott.

Gordon also made the decision that he wouldn't call Rachel for a few days. He was going to try to stretch it out to a fortnight but after eight days, his father had had enough of him moping around the house and not listening when anyone spoke to him.

"If you don't call that girl right now, I'm going to bring Alan home and put you on satellite duty for a month!" he threatened, picking Gordon's cellphone up from the table and throwing it at him.

"But you said-"

"I said no shore leave, I didn't say ignore her and go around with a face like a slapped ass!" Jeff interrupted. Gordon beamed at him and ran off to his room to call her. His stomach churned as the phone rang out... and went to voicemail.

_"Hello, it's me. If this voice isn't the 'me' you're expecting, you've got the wrong number. If, however, I am the correct 'me', leave your message after the beep and I'll call you back. Maybe."_ he heard her say.

"Hey. You're definitely the 'me' I'm looking for. It's me. I hope I'm the right 'me', too. Anyway, I don't like maybes so I'll call you later just to make sure I catch you next time," he said, before hanging up.

Eventually they did manage to speak to each other, and for the next few weeks they arranged to speak at specific times on specific days, until in the end they spoke to each other every other day. At first they spoke on the phone but then Gordon hit upon the idea of speaking to each other over the internet. Rachel was something of a technophobe and didn't like the idea of speaking to him face to face from the other side of the world because it felt strange, but she soon came round to the idea and eventually they spoke online more than on the phone. Their usual time was mid-afternoon on Tracy Island as it coincided with Rachel's bedtime. They tried speaking to each other at breakfast time in England and bedtime on Tracy Island but she was always a little grumpy and too busy rushing around as she got ready for work. So, most nights, Rachel made up a huge mug of hot chocolate and tucked herself up in bed while Gordon headed off to the beach to show her the view from the Island. Sometimes he would turn his laptop screen outwards so she didn't see him at all, just the ocean. He'd perch the computer on his knees and rest his arms gently either side of the keypad so that Rachel felt as though she was sat with his arms around her.

One afternoon, heavy rain prevented their usual virtual walk along the beach, so Gordon found himself confined to his bedroom. As soon as Rachel turned her webcam on, he was a little surprised to see nothing but the top of her bosoms almost falling out from her top.

"Woah!" Gordon exclaimed, his eyes widening.

"What?" Rachel asked, confused.

"I dunno if your webcam's slipped or you're doing it on purpose, but all I can see is your chest!" he told her. She let out a gasp of horror.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she answered, starting to move the webcam so nothing was in focus for a few moments.

"It wasn't a complaint! Don't move it!" Gordon protested.

"I can't let you just gawp at my chest!" she insisted.

"Why not?"

"Because it'll traumatise you!"

"Traumatise nothing! I love your chest! It's at the right height for me to faceplant and everything!" he assured her. She chuckled and finally managed to fix it so her face was on view again.

"Oh, stop it," she chided him, giggling with embarrassment. "There," she said, grinning into the camera. "Better?"

"I dunno, I'd really started to miss Ligeia and Riadne!" he answered, a little mournfully.

"Who?!" she asked, frowning.

"Ligeia and Riadne. I named 'em after two of the Sirens. Y'know, the ones that lure sailors to their doom? Greek mythology - maritime stuff you gotta learn at WASP school," he explained. Her eyes widened.

"You - wait... you've named my boobs?" she asked. He shrugged and nodded.

"Sure, haven't you?" he asked. She blinked once or twice, baffled.

"Erm. No," she answered, cautiously. "I'm loath to ask which one's which."

"I can't tell you that, that'd spoil it. You mean... there's nothing... you haven't... you didn't name anything of mine?" he asked. Rachel blushed furiously and looked away. "Oh, you have!" he realised.

"Maybe," she replied, awkwardly, still blushing. He burst out laughing.

"Shit! You really have! What is it?" he demanded, his eyes gleaming.

"I'm not telling you," she answered, her cheeks still a very bright shade of pink.

"I hope it's something appropriate."

"It's very complimentary, I can assure you," she replied.

"Hey. Rach?" he began.

"What?"

"Let me take a quick look," he requested, his voice low and conspiratorial. She frowned.

"What at?" she asked. He nodded his head down and raised his eyebrows.

"You know. Just a peek."

"Gordon Tracy, I am not getting my bosoms out on a webcam!" Rachel gasped, unsure as to why she sounded and felt so scandalised. If anything she was surprised that he hadn't asked her to do it earlier.

"Aww!" he protested. She shook her head.

"Never mind 'aww'! I am not getting my boobs out for your voyeuristic pleasure!" she insisted.

"You show me your chest and I'll show you mine," he offered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. She bit her lip and pretended to think about it for a moment.

"Oh, now that _is_ tempting!" she agreed.

"Is that a 'yes'?" he asked. Her face fell and she shot him a very stern look.

"Gordon, I am not a sex object," she told him, firmly.

"Not to me you're not, but some people have no taste," he argued. She chuckled despite herself.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she warned him.

"I'll wear you down, y'know," he told her.

"Promises, promises."

"Hey, in another two hundred and forty-nine days..."

"In another two hundred and forty-nine days I'll let you look at Lucy and Ramona as much as you like!" she promised.

"Ligeia and Riadne!" he corrected her. She shrugged.

"Whatever," she answered, dismissively.

"Don't 'whatever' me! I put serious thought into those names! It took hours of intensive study!" he told her.

"I'm sure it did," she answered, pursing her lips slightly and raising one eyebrow at him. He smiled softly.

"You have the nicest lips since the invention of the mouth, has anyone ever told you that?" he asked. She twisted her mouth into a wacky pout and crossed her eyes.

"How about now?" she asked. He burst out laughing.

"I'm serious!" he giggled.

"No, nobody's told me that before, actually. You're the first. And thank you, that's a lovely thing to say," she answered, a little shyly. He frowned in confusion.

"Really? I'm the first? Are all English men blind or something? Or do you think it's your chest that distracts them?" he asked, seriously.

"I'm pretty sure nobody's noticed my chest either," she answered, wearily.

"That's their loss," he told her. She paused and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"I'm still not showing you my boobs," she answered. He pouted at her.

"Some girlfriend you are," he answered. She paused for a moment, perturbed that she didn't feel remotely offended by a label she was sure that she didn't want.

"I'm... not your girlfriend," she reminded him. He shook his head.

"You're a girl and you're my friend. I'm not taking it back," he told her. "I can be just as ornery as you. I just need a little practice," he added. She giggled.

At that moment, a light flashed on Gordon's wall to signal that a rescue call had come in and he was needed. He rolled his eyes and let out a groan of frustration.

"I gotta go, Rach," he told her.

"What?"

"I gotta go. Callout at work," he explained.

"Right now?" she asked, furrowing her brow in protest. He nodded.

"Yeah. I'll call you when I get back," he promised.

"Gordon!" Scott yelled, pounding on his door with the side of his fist. "Let's go!"

"On my way!" he called back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Talk to you later," she told him, blowing him a kiss and waving before turning her webcam off. He hoped she'd seen him pretend to catch the kiss and put it in his pocket.

As Gordon ran to the service elevator, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He quickly checked and saw he had a text message from Rachel.

_HMS Victory. A huge, unrelenting and resilient beast. I guess we both speak in maritime metaphor.X_

"Huh?" he began, frowning with confusion, then his eyes widened and his cheeks flushed bright red as he realised what she meant. "That's terrible!" he muttered, grinning inanely to himself. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and carried on jogging down the hallway, whistling _The Sailor's Hornpipe_.


	10. Chapter Ten - The Loophole

_**A/N:** Twelve whole months of webchats, accidental cleavage flashings and virtual walks along the beach? Is that what our favourite couple have been reduced to? Not for long, folks! Not if I have anything to do with it! But first, let's take a look at our boys doing what they do best. No. Not that. We've already seen plenty of all that nonsense. I mean, y'know - rescuing people. Hold onto your sashes, chaps! _

_Thanks to **Darkflame's Pyre **for helping me through a touch of Writer's Block over this._

_**NB: ** Warnings for a bit of graphic drama/tragedy during the rescue. _

**Chapter Ten - The Loophole**

A fire had broken out on a farm in Kent. One of the apprentice farmhands had decided to take his cigarette-break early and unwittingly lit up far too close to the canisters of chemical fertilser. A tiny fragment of hot ash somehow managed to be blown into the fertiliser. Without any warning, a fireball ripped through the serene landscape and everything was now a complete picture of panic, chaos, disorder and nightmarish desolation.

The fire spread quickly, and unfortunately due to the strong blustery gales that March usually brings to England, the village surrounding the farmland was also affected. House after house was quickly enveloped by the blaze, in an horrific, incandescent domino effect. The acrid smell of the blaze alone, together with the burning flesh of livestock that had been too close or too slow to facilitate their own escape - not to mention the uniquely pungent odour of the fertilizer itself - overwhelmed the area. The smell was palpable, it could be tasted, it could be felt. The sticky, greasy residue left on everything made the whole village seem dirty, even the parts unaffected by the fire.

The local fire brigade were already stretched to capacity with the burning farmland - but when the village became engulfed in the flames too, there was only one possible option left to the residents. They had to call International Rescue. Alan had advised that the Firefly would be needed and that, as it was a chemical fire, a low-expansion alcohol-resistant chemical foam was to be used in a blanket covering of the area from Thunderbird Two to fight the fire before the manual rescue was implemented. It was to be a massive undertaking and, as ever, there wasn't room in the rescue schedule for anyone to waste a moment.

Scott was, of course, first on the scene, and managed to set up Mobile Control in a nearby stone barn. He quickly assessed the situation and made sure that Gordon, John and Virgil were prepared for the absolute worst. The human inhabitants and workers at the farm, together with most of the animals had been rescued already and so the streets in the village closest to the farm were now the main cause of concern. Rescue operations were already underway and Scott wasted no time in organising the rescue procedure for everyone involved. The crew manager of the local fire brigade was, at first, very reluctant to allow Scott to take over what he deemed was _his_ operation.

"I don't see why you think you need to take control of my men as well. You have your own team coming over. We fight fires every day - you glory boys turn up for the big events and think you can take over everything! Well it isn't happening!" he ranted.

Scott was in no mood to argue with anyone, especially having seen the carnage from an aerial perspective just minutes earlier. His blue eyes hardened and blazed with anger, although his facial expression didn't alter.

"Sir, International Rescue were called out because your men couldn't cope with the scale of the problem," Scott reminded him, firmly. "Now, you may not have the equipment to deal with a fire of this scale, but we do. The moment you asked for our help, you relinquished your powers of control over the situation. We all have a job to do if we want any of these people to make it through the day in one piece. I've seen what the situation is, and you definitely do not have the time to stand around and argue with me." It would have taken a much braver man than the crew manager to even attempt to continue dialogue with Scott at that moment, so he relented into a slightly sulky silence before turning and nodding his aquiescence to his unit, and advised them that International Rescue had now taken command - from that moment, all their orders were to be strictly adhered to.

Rescue helicopters had arrived at the scene moments before Thunderbird 2 finally came into Scott's peripheral vision. He looked up and sighed with relief.

"What the hell took you guys so long?" he barked into his communicator.

"John was reapplying his guyliner," Gordon piped up. John rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

"It's tinted moisturiser," he corrected him. Virgil giggled at their banter and decided to interrupt before Scott took either of them seriously.

"Don't listen to 'em, Scott," he reassured his elder brother, as he knew Scott would have very little, if any, sense of humour left at that moment. "No delays, our ETA is on schedule. Releasing foam jets in thirty seconds," he added.

"Yeah, well, hurry it up, will ya? There's a lot of people out here that we need to get to safety," Scott answered, grimly. Virgil nodded.

"Yeah. I see that," he agreed.

The chemical foam almost completely eradicated the blaze, and after three liberal applications to the area, Thunderbird Two finally landed in the field opposite the local pub, The Cobbler's Arms. Virgil, John and Gordon all assisted with the physical rescue of the inhabitants, literally pulling people out of rubble and handing them over to the waiting ambulance services and emergency helicopters as necessary. Seeing people with charred, blistered skin, grown men screaming like children with the searing pain was difficult for all the Tracy brothers to deal with. It was a near impossible ask to be able to switch off completely from those situations, and there was always the question of whether it would be more helpful to the rescue if the boys kept such a keen control of their emotions that they could almost switch them off completely during a rescue. The associated adrenaline and empathy for the human plight was necessary, of course - but occasionally, things would happen that would threaten to overwhelm them completely.

Out of the corner of his eye, among the rubble of a house that had been razed to the ground, Gordon saw a small hand poking out.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, groaning inwardly.

"What?" Virgil asked, turning to him.

Gordon shook his head and continued toward the hand. He moved a few bricks away and started pulling gently at it. Faster and faster, he moved more debris away until he saw a face. A small girl, not much older than four or five, still in her pyjamas. Her head had been crushed by the main structural beam from the roof as it caved in. Her bright blue eyes, almost the same shade of blue as Scott's, were still open, yet now glazed over in death. Her now-grubby pink pyjamas covered in Disney princesses were torn and Gordon suddenly felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he looked at her small, broken frame.

"Shit," he whispered. He took a moment to compose himself and took two or three deep breaths before calling over a paramedic. "Hey, buddy. Uhm... I'm really sorry," he began, bending down and scooping the girl up in his arms before passing her to him. The paramedic looked down at her, then back up at Gordon.

"Doesn't get easier finding ones like these, does it?" he asked, kindly. Gordon shook his head and tried to offer a smile in return but couldn't. He turned away and tried to calm himself down.

"Concentrate on the living. They still need you. Come on. Ass in gear. Don't do this. Not now. You don't have time. C'mon. Focus," he growled to himself. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and straightened his back stubbornly. There was still work to do. None of them could afford to think of themselves at that moment.

Four long and laborious hours later, the rescue was, to all intents and purposes, over. There was minimal clear-up left in place and all rescuees had been taken to nearby hospitals. Scott had made sure that the area was safe and clear before beginning to dismantle the Mobile Control unit.

"You may as well go, Scott. We can take it from here," Virgil told him. Scott nodded his agreement and turned his attention back to Mobile Control. The crew manager of the local fire department came over to him and grabbed his arm.

"Listen, mate. I know I was out of order, but... you did great out there. We couldn't have done it without you. The people you saved - well. I guess that's what it's all about. So, thanks," he told him, holding his hand out to him. Scott shook his outstretched hand firmly.

"Thanks for all your help. We can't do it alone," he acknowledged. He looked down at the dismantled unit and then looked back up at the crew manager. "Speaking of which, you think you could give me a hand with this?" he asked. The crew manager nodded and signalled for two men to come and help them.

Soon, Scott was on his way home and Virgil had radioed in to tell Jeff the news.

"Mission completed. Scott's now returning to Base. John, Gordon and I will be about another thirty minutes," he advised.

At that moment, another explosion was heard. The beer barrels underneath the pub across from Thunderbird Two had overheated and exploded. The large, heavy, solid-oak door burst out from its frame and hurtled directly through the windshield of 'Two. The impact caused the control panel to burst into flames.

"Shit!" Virgil yelped, pushing his younger brothers out of the way before covering his head with his hands to shield himself from any rogue shards of glass from the windshield that may have flown in his direction.

The fire department quickly got the blaze at the pub under control. Fortunately, the pub wasn't open at the time and there were no fatalities. The same, however, couldn't be said for Thunderbird Two. After they'd cleared away the glass debris from the control panel and put out the electrical fire, Virgil sat in the cockpit and buried his head in his hands.

"_'Go home, Scott. It'll be fine, Scott. We'll see you back at Base'_. You goddam frickin' idiot!" he scolded himself.

"What's the problem?" John asked, raising his eyebrow at the mess in front of him.

"She's screwed, that's the problem with her," Virgil responded, bitterly.

"Can't we move her at all?" Gordon asked. Virgil shook his head.

"She's grounded," he answered. He sighed, pulled his sleeve back and contacted Base.

"What is it, Virgil?" his father asked.

"There was a secondary explosion. Thunderbird Two has been hit. Control panel... fucked," he explained, helplessly. Jeff raised an eyebrow at him. Virgil turned his wrist communicator to face the control panel of Thunderbird Two and Jeff let out a low whistle.

"That's the word, all right," his father agreed. "Scott's on his way back to Base now. I suggest you sit tight until he can come back and collect Brains for repairs. You're about an hour from Lady Penelope's place, I'm sure she'll let you go back and get cleaned up. You look terrible."

"Thanks, Dad," Virgil replied, sarcastically.

"I'll contact Penny and arrange for you to be picked up nearby. In the meantime, like I say, sit tight. I don't see what else you can do," Jeff told him. Virgil nodded his understanding.

"FAB," he replied, switching off communications. "Great. We're stuck until Parker can come get us, then we're going to Creighton-Ward Mansion," he told the others, even though they'd probably just heard everything.

Gordon sat quietly, still thinking about the little girl from before. If there was one thing he needed at that moment, it was a hug. He felt strange about the idea of throwing his arms around his brothers at that precise moment, after all, they'd been through the same thing and, despite their effeminate natures, weren't nearly as tactile as he was. He had to judge hugs with them a little more carefully than hugs with anyone else in his family. Even Scott always seemed to be ready to dish out and to take hugs from anyone.

In fact, without giving the matter too much thought, he knew that the one person he really wanted a hug from at that exact moment was Rachel. She wouldn't even need to say anything or do anything else. She could just hold him close to her and tell him it'd be okay. He'd even let himself believe her.

"Guys," he began, looking up at them. "Can you two cover for me?" he asked.

"What for?" Virgil asked, suspiciously.

"I don't want to go to Penny's," he explained. "London's only an hour away from here too. I can be in Muswell Hill before you get to Creighton-Ward Mansion."

"Gordon!" John realised. "Dad said no shore leave for a year!"

"This isn't shore leave. We're grounded on a mission. It's totally different. Jesus, John, we've had a really shitty day already and... look... please. Just do me this one favour and I'll do anything for you. I mean it. Anything," he pleaded. "Just... please."

"Anything?" Virgil repeated, interested. Gordon nodded.

"I know that's a dangerous thing to offer, but... c'mon guys. I need to see her," he insisted. Virgil and John looked at each other for a moment.

"All right. We'll think about what you can do in return, but in the meantime you'd better get changed and check that she'll let you stay with her," John agreed. Gordon beamed at them.

"If you two weren't my brothers, I would kiss you both on the mouth!" he declared, happily, before running off to get changed. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and called Rachel.

"It's six a.m.!" she answered, groggily. "This had better be good."

"I'm sorry. It is. Look, don't ask me any questions, because I can't explain anything, but I'll tell you what's happened. I'm stuck outside London for the next twenty hours or so. I need a bed, I need a hug, I need a meal, and honest to God I can't tell you how badly I need a shower right now. Can I come stay with you?" he asked.

"You're outside London? What are you doing there?" she demanded.

"No questions," he reminded her. She growled in frustration.

"You're a pain," she told him.

"Is that a 'no'?" he asked.

"Don't be daft. Where do I meet you?" she inquired.

"I'll meet you outside the Tube station in an hour. And, again - no questions - but I warn you now, I smell like shit," he added.

"Wow, you make it all sound so very romantic," she answered, sarcastically. "See you then. I might even scrub your back for you, if you're a good boy," she offered. He chuckled softly.

"I'll hold you to that. Later," he finished, hanging up on her. He smiled ruefully at his phone before returning to his brothers.

"What happened?" Virgil asked. Gordon shrugged.

"I said I'd meet her in an hour," he answered. His face suddenly dropped. "This is crap, isn't it?" he asked. Virgil frowned at him in confusion. "This isn't going to work, is it? This is no kind of life for her," he admitted, running his hands through his hair.

"No, you're right. It's no life for any self-respecting woman to sit around waiting for you to come home after a rescue, especially when you roll up smelling like a cesspit," John agreed. "But I thought you two weren't serious?" he asked. Gordon shook his head.

"No, we aren't. But what if we were?" he asked. "I can't tell her anything, she can't ask me anything - and what if I start having nightmares about the rescues when I'm with her?"

"You're overthinking again," John told him, firmly. "You're just going to her place for a shower and a meal. Leave the drama queen stuff to Virgil," he insisted. Virgil's eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm not a drama queen!" he protested. John and Gordon looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"You're right, Johnny," Gordon admitted.

"I always am!" he answered, glibly. "Parker will be here soon, we'll get him to drop you someplace away from here before you call a taxi," he decided. "Hey, you better make sure this whole thing is worth your time, you know. Virge and I are gonna consult Penny and Parker over your use of the word 'anything', you know that, right?" he threatened, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Gordon nodded.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he replied, a small but definite lopsided grin finally returning to his face.


	11. Chapter Eleven - The Nightmare

_**A/N:** Thank you everyone for all your general amazingness so far. It's amazed and stunned me. I can't believe that my daft story about the ginger shortarse has had such a fabulous response. I love you all terribly and am giving you all a little hug in my mind, right now. _

_But enough of the adoration. Let's take a look at the latest reunion of our hapless heroes, as Gordon discovers that you do not argue with a sleep and caffiene deprived woman, and Rachel discovers that no matter how ironlike her resolve to remain in a foul mood with Gordon may be, she is no match for that roguish, knicker-disintegrating, dimpled grin... Let's face it - who is?!_

**Chapter Eleven - The Nightmare**

Rachel stood anxiously outside the Tube station, stamping her feet and rubbing her hands briskly over her arms in an attempt to keep warm. The early morning air was bitterly cold and there were already delays on the Northern Line, which meant Gordon's train was five minutes late. It was Friday and the only thing she had left in her wardrobe that was clean and didn't need ironing was a thin shirt-dress which she hadn't worn since the summer and which showed far too much leg for an early spring morning.

She hadn't had a great deal of time to get ready for Gordon's impromptu visit, and the more she thought about it, the grumpier she felt. It was now ten past seven in the morning, which, she felt, was a ridiculous time for anyone to be up and dressed at. Not only was she up and dressed, she had showered, washed her hair, changed her bedding, cleaned her flat, called work to tell them she was sick and wouldn't be able to make it to the office - and in between times she'd somehow managed to find time to throw a cup of coffee and two slices of toast down her neck. Now she had indigestion and probably early-onset frostbite, just because Gordon had snapped his fingers and expected her to come running immediately. And because she was only half-awake when she'd spoken to him, he'd caught her off-guard and she'd let him do it. She was livid with herself more than with him. Although she was definitely angry enough with him. Well, he'd only asked for a meal, a shower, a snooze and a hug - he was definitely not going to get anything else out of her. No way.

Eventually, a few dozen people started piling out from the station, and she saw a thick mop of strawberry-blond hair that she instantly recognised as belonging to Gordon. She started walking towards him but quickly noted the looks of disgust on other people's faces as they glared at him when they passed by. She widened her eyes and wondered what on earth had happened to him to invoke that reaction from passers-by. He caught sight of her and wolf-whistled at her.

"Look at you!" he began, before bursting out into a rousing rendition of_ Hot Legs_ by Rod Stewart. She shook her head, mortally embarrassed, and attempted in vain to pull the hem of her dress down so that it looked a little more modest.

"Stop it, as if I don't look bad enough without you pointing it out to everyone!" she shot back at him as she hurried over to him. He held his hands up to stop her coming any closer to him and she frowned at him in confusion.

"Really. Do _not_ touch me. You don't want to go there," he began. She shrugged.

"My flat's just round the corner, we'd best get you cleaned up before you knock half of London sick," she suggested. "What on earth are you doing here?" she asked.

"It's a long story," he answered.

"You really need to do better than that," she told him, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well... the brief version is, I was in the area, I'm having an unexpected problem with my ride home and I wanted to see you," he told her. She frowned, unconvinced.

"I can't believe you're here, this is ridiculous - how did you end up in England?" she demanded.

"Ah, that's a long story, too," he answered, flushing slightly. She was unmoved by his evasive reply.

"Good job we've got a few hours to kill, isn't it? You can tell me all about it when we get in," she informed him.

"It'll take longer than that to explain," he replied, quickly. "But I really needed to see you. It's not the same, seeing you and not being able to touch you," he told her. Her steely resolve to be constantly annoyed with him melted for a moment as she beamed at him.

"Oh, come here," she insisted, pulling him towards her. Before their lips met, she screwed up her face in disgust and pushed him away. "Oh my god!" she coughed. "That's disgusting! What the fuck have you been doing?"

"I did warn you it was bad," he reminded her.

"The first thing you're going to do when we get back is get in the shower and get yourself clean. I'm not having you anywhere near me while you're smelling like you've bathed in a cow-pat," she decided as she started walking up the path to her flat. She rented a ground floor flat in a converted Georgian townhouse. It was just the right size for one person and an occasional guest, which, to Rachel, meant that it was perfect for her.

As soon as she'd closed the front door behind them, she dragged Gordon's jacket from his back and then yanked his t-shirt off him.

"Easy, tiger!" he protested.

"Don't get any ideas, these are all going in the wash right now," she answered, grimly, grabbing him by the belt and unzipping his jeans.

"Christ, Rachel, I can undress myself!" he told her, blushing furiously.

"Well hurry up about it," she insisted. She opened a cupboard and retrieved a towel which she handed to him and pointed to a room to her right. "Shower room's just through there. I keep a stock of new toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet. If you're not soapy clean and minty fresh in the next thirty minutes I'll be annoyed," she ordered.

"You're not my real mother!" he retorted, sulkily.

"If you have any intention of having any physical contact with me whatsoever during the next few hours, you will do as you're told," she answered, firmly.

"Well, what are you gonna do while I'm in there?" he asked.

"Me? I'm going to wash, dry and iron your clothes and I'm going to cook you breakfast," she answered. He grinned at her.

"I never knew you were such a caring kinda gal," he told her. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't care about _you_. I just want a clean house that doesn't smell like a sewage tank," she told him. He looked at her, doubtfully.

"Sure, sure," he teased.

"Shut up and get in the shower," she snapped.

"Thought you were gonna scrub my back?" he asked, knowing he was just about to push her too far. He didn't really care, he loved how her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled when she got mad - and especially when she was mad with him.

"You're bloody lucky I've let you in my house at all!" she ranted. He grinned at her. "I'm serious. You take the piss, you know that? The really annoying thing is, despite how completely pissed off I am with you right now, I actually am really pleased to see you. But you don't mess about with a girl before sufficient caffeine. Not this one, anyway."

"How about after sufficient caffeine?" he asked. wiggling his eyebrows at her. Despite herself, she couldn't help but laugh.

"Get yourself looking and smelling like a human being and I'll think about it," she replied with a wink, closing the door, picking up the bundle of clothes on her hall floor and thrusting them straight in the washing machine. She opened all the windows in an attempt to let some fresh air in, which she knew was a bit of a hopeless task in London.

Thirty minutes later, Gordon's clothes were merrily whizzing round the washing machine and Rachel had just put a plate of bread and butter in the middle of her kitchen table between two large plates filled with the makings of a full English breakfast, when Gordon poked his face around the door.

"Boo!" he said, dryly.

"Argh." she replied, unenthusiastically, her expression completely deadpan.

"Something smells amazing, and it's more than just me," he declared, walking in. He'd found Mark's spare bathrobe hanging up behind the door of Rachel's bathroom. Mark usually stayed over most weekends and often left most of his belongings at Rachel's flat. However, as Mark was six foot three and Gordon was only five foot eight, Gordon did look a little lost inside all the towelling.

"Ah, now you look more like a human being!" she told him with a grin. "Or at least, more like a real live Munchkin!" she teased him. He rolled his eyes and chuckled good-naturedly.

"Do I get my hug now?" he asked, stretching his arms out. She sniffed the air once or twice and nodded.

"I think it's safe, yeah," she agreed, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. "It's like your hugs get better all the time," she muttered.

"I've had some saved up for you," he told her. He cupped her face in his hands, gazed into her eyes for a few moments and kissed her gently. "Hello, you," he whispered. She smiled softly.

"Breakfast's on the table," she answered, pulling away from him and gesturing towards her kitchen table. His eyes widened at sight of the huge plate of food before him. He was convinced that his absolute favourite thing about England was the full English breakfast. He didn't know who had invented it, but they had been a genius.

"I must've been fucking awesome in a previous life to deserve this," he declared, rubbing his hands together in glee and sitting at the table.

"Maybe you've just been pretty damned amazing in this one," she suggested as she sat opposite him and started tucking into a similar sized plate of food.

"I wish I could take you back to the Island so you could cook like this for me every day," he told her. She shot him a stern look.

"So I could what?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. He gulped nervously.

"So you could be an independent, free-thinking woman with a life of your own who occasionally chose to cook a meal for me if it wasn't too much trouble for you and if you were already cooking something for yourself," he corrected himself. She nodded.

"Better," she commended him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"And also so I could fuck you whenever I wanted," he added after a pause.

"GORDON!" she gasped, unable to control her giggles. He chuckled.

"Well it's always good to get all of the chauvinism out of the way as early as possible! Besides, don't tell me you wouldn't like it too," he pointed out. She shook her head and blushed, before she decided to avoid further conversation by concentrating intently on creating a bacon and egg sandwich for herself. They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, neither of them having realised quite how hungry they were until they started eating. The tension slowly built up as Rachel started running through a series of questions through her mind that she was desperate to ask Gordon but wasn't sure how to put any of them to him. He watched her with interest as she absentmindedly ploughed through her meal, clearly arguing with someone in her head.

"Do you want to ask me something?" he inquired, eventually. She looked at him sharply, as though he'd disturbed her. "You look a little tense," he pointed out. She relaxed her shoulders and nodded.

"Well, now you come to mention it," she began. He nodded.

"I thought you might do," he replied.

"I know you don't want to tell me anything about your job, and that's fine. I totally understand that sometimes you can't tell me certain things. But I do have some questions which, considering I've had to put you up in my home on practically no notice, I think I've got a right to ask," she told him as he polished off his last hash brown.

"Fire away," he offered, sitting back and sighing contentedly.

"A global security company?" she asked. He nodded and took a swig of tea.

"More or less," he answered. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah. Global security."

"And that business brought you to England at... what time this morning?" she inquired.

"About one-thirty," he answered.

"Half one?! What was it, a bank robbery?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Nothing like that. But I really can't tell you what it was," he told her. She nodded.

"Okay. But how did you get here? You can tell me that," she pointed out. He paused for a moment as he tried to think of how he could generalise a description of Thunderbird Two.

"Private jet," he finally replied. It was sort of close enough. Her eyes widened. She couldn't get her head around the concept anyone having that amount of personal finance.

"You have a private jet?" she asked. He shrugged.

"For work," he explained. "It's not just mine."

"And what happened to it?"

"An electrical malfunction on the control panel. I'm grounded till I can get our engineer out to it, which could take anything up to twenty four hours," he explained. She nodded slowly.

"Do you work for a government agency?" she asked. His eyes widened.

"Am I a spy?" he asked. "That isn't fair. How can I answer that and have you believe me? I'd be a shit spy if I said 'yes', wouldn't I? But if I said 'no', you'd think I was lying because only a spy would lie about not being a spy! I can't win with that!" he argued. She remained stonefaced.

"One of us is going to have to trust the other - and to be honest, you've done nothing to make me trust you yet. You have to give me something," she told him, seriously.

"No. I'm not a spy. I don't work for any government agency. Like I told you. It's a family business," he answered.

"Are you involved in anything even remotely illegal?" she asked, unblinking. He rolled his eyes and let out a cry of frustration.

"Come on, Rachel! What do you take me for?" he demanded.

"I don't take you for anything right now. I just want you to be honest with me. Whatever it is, I can take it, but I need to know what I'm dealing with," she replied, firmly. He sighed. He supposed, on reflection, she did have a point.

"My work is on the level, I promise. We don't even avoid taxes. You aren't dealing with anything but me right now. You won't get any strange phonecalls, there'll be no mysterious knocks on the door and no apples containing microfilm will be left on the premises overnight," he joked, whether or not it was an appropriate moment to make a joke about anything. "Right now, I'm just really, really tired. It's been a long night," he told her, truthfully. His face suddenly looked pale and his eyelids had grown heavy. Rachel could practically feel the ice around her heart melt a little every time she looked at him. Especially now. She let out a sigh of resignation.

"Okay. Come on," she relented, holding her hand out and helping him up. She led him into her bedroom and closed the curtains while he got into bed. "I'll let you get some sleep," she told him. "I'm sure I've got some stuff to do."

"Can you... can you just stay a little bit?" he asked, looking up at her. She sighed and scolded herself for falling for the puppy dog eyes routine before nodding and unbuttoning her dress.

"If you like," she agreed, slipping her dress off and getting into bed with him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her deeply.

"I've missed you," he whispered, running his hands over her back and thighs as he lay short trails of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone.

"I thought you just wanted to sleep?" she reminded him, a little breathlessly.

"I can do both," he told her, confidently, although he was so visibly tired he could barely keep his eyes open. She shook her head.

"Not at the same time," she pointed out. He thought about this for a moment and finally nodded his agreement.

"Don't go anywhere," he instructed, kissing the tip of her nose softly. She giggled.

"I don't think I can, even if I wanted to," she answered. "You're sort of on top of me. Not even sort of. You're all on top of me," she pointed out.

"Everyone's where they wanna be," he muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head on Rachel's chest. He kept a tight hold of Rachel and soon they had both nodded off, Rachel being lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of his soft breathing and warmed through to the bone by the feeling of his arms locked protectively around her, while Gordon fell asleep quickly and dreamed vividly.

_He dreamed that he was back on the rescue, next to the house of rubble. But this time, he knew there was a little girl who needed rescuing. He knew that if only he could get to her in time, perhaps he could save her. Perhaps those little four-year-old dreams that she had could still come true. Perhaps she'd be able to run about and play with her friends again. Perhaps he could make her parents' hurting stop this time. The sights, the smells, the feel of the place were all so perfectly replicated in his dream that he had no reason to believe that he wasn't awake and completely sentient._

_He knew exactly where the little girl was and he started quickly removing the rubble from the spot where she was trapped._

_"Don't worry, sweetie, I know you're here. I'll find you. It'll be okay. I'll get you safe to your mom and dad. I promise," he called out. There was no response and his heart sank. "Call out if you can hear me. I'm listening!" he continued. Silence. Faster and faster, he pulled more debris away, but the more bricks and rubble he moved, the more that seemed to replace them. "Don't be scared! I've got you!" he promised._

_Eventually he pulled the last brick back and gasped in horror. The face staring up at him, cold and expressionless in death, was Scott's. Gordon could practically feel his heart breaking._

_"No. No. Not this. Scott! No, come on buddy, stay with me, don't do this to me," he pleaded, pulling more bricks away from his brother's crushed body. "This can't be happening. Not you as well!" he insisted. He carefully leaned across and touched Scott's face gently to see if there was any faint reaction from him, and to his absolute horror, all he saw was blood pouring out of an open wound at the back of Scott's skull._

With a gut-wrenching cry of anguish, Gordon's eyes opened and he found himself in bed, with Rachel sitting up and looking at him, her face etched with concern.

"I'm sorry," he began. She shook her head.

"What happened?"

"It was just a dumb nightmare," he answered, shaking his head to get the image out of his brain.

"Come here," she whispered, pulling him close to her and wrapping her arms around him. He clung onto her tightly and buried his face into her neck. "You're safe, you know that, right?" she asked as she stroked his hair.

"I know," he replied, his voice cracking a little.

"What did you see?" she asked gently.

"It was Scott. He was... it was horrible," he told her, shuddering at the memory.

"Do you want me to call him for you?" she suggested. He shook his head.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he explained. She didn't tackle him over it but she smiled quite proudly to herself at the thought that he'd broken some sort of rule to go and see her. It was quite exciting when he put it like that.

"Gordon?" she began.

"Yeah?"

"Is this... was your nightmare anything to do with what happened this morning before you came to me?" she asked. He looked at her but didn't reply. "Okay. I know you told me not to ask."

"Why are you being this nice? It's just a stupid dream. It wasn't real," he reminded her, more to try and calm himself down than anything else.

"Well, I suppose it's because deep down I _am_ quite nice, really," she answered. "But don't tell anyone. Besides, I know that when you're stuck in those dreams, it can all seem very real indeed."

"I wish I could take you home with me," he told her with a sigh, squeezing her tightly around her waist. She nodded.

"I know. Me too. I wish I didn't like you so much," she answered. He chuckled softly.

"If it's any consolation, the feeling's mutual," he replied.

"It isn't. It's all very strange and I don't even know if I like it. It's not like me at all. I just look at you and I want to make you happy," she said. He shook his head and kissed her.

"You know what? I think today you've done more than enough to make me happy. It's got to be your turn. Let me take over now," he decided, kissing her mouth as he laid her down on her bed. She tensed a little, not sure if it was entirely fair to take advantage of him when he'd just woken up from what sounded like a terrible nightmare - and not even altogether sure who exactly was taking advantage of whom at that precise moment.

"But-" she protested.

"Shh. I totally got this," he interrupted, placing his index finger gently across her lips. She pressed her hand firmly against his chest.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, still worried about him for reasons she couldn't even fathom. He nodded.

"Do you want me to stop?" he checked. She shook her head and beamed at him.

"Don't you dare."


	12. Chapter Twelve - The Wobble

_**A/N:** I started writing this chapter with all intentions of it being a total laugh riot. Somehow it's managed to re-write itself into being a little angsty. I do apologise for all of that. In fact, this chapter started out being about something else entirely - but... well... here we go anyway. Hold onto your hats, chaps, as Gordon throws a strop, Rachel's had enough - and Mark knows exactly how to cure a woman's problems..._

**Chapter Twelve - The Wobble**

Rachel had left Gordon to sleep for a few hours. His body clock would be messed up enough, even if he did have the energy to stay awake any longer, so after she'd cleared away the dishes from their epic breakfast, she left his clean clothes neatly folded next to the bed and decided to quietly leave the flat for a while. It felt a little strange to leave her home in the sole charge of a sleeping man that she had only met twice before, but at least she knew he was rich enough for her to trust him not to steal her emergency fifty pounds in the biscuit tin - even if she couldn't trust him not to steal the biscuits sitting on top of it.

Her head seemed so full that she was glad of the walk and the fresh air. She thought that perhaps an hour wandering aimlessly around a supermarket would distract her enough to get other things out of her mind. Even though it was only eleven o'clock in the morning she felt as though she had already done a full day's work. There were so many questions running through her mind she felt ready to scream. Gordon, on the face of it, seemed like a genuinely nice guy. He was young, he was far better looking than he realised, he was funny, he was intelligent and Rachel had never met anyone quite like him. But then there was something really strange about him. Not strange in a sweet, idiosyncratic way, and not strange in a disturbing, intimidating way. Just... something. What on earth had he been doing to get himself into that physical and mental state before he rolled up at her home? Why did he feel the need to smile through it all when she could see in his eyes there was something troubling him? What was he protecting her from - or, more importantly, what was he protecting himself from?

She eventually wandered back home mid-afternoon, after having stretched the day and her bank balance as much as she possibly could. She had enjoyed a leisurely lunch in a local café and had decided on an impulse to buy a new dress and pair of shoes. Mark was taking her out for a meal later that evening and it was as good an excuse as any to invest in a new pair of shoes. Part of her hoped that Gordon would be gone by the evening. She hadn't grown bored of him, but three was definitely a crowd and she didn't want either him or Mark to not have her full attention. The whole situation suddenly seemed far too stressful for her liking. She hadn't asked for any of this. She certainly hadn't asked for the way she felt about him. That was definitely unexpected, and largely uncalled for. In hindsight she knew she shouldn't have spent so long talking to him on the phone or online - the more time they spent together, the more time she wanted to spend with him. If she had any sense at all, she'd go back home and throw him out, and tell him she never wanted to see him again. But even as she thought it, her stomach churned and she had to catch her breath. Never seeing him again didn't sound like a very palatable option at all.

When she arrived back home, she poked her head around her bedroom door to check on him. He was awake but looked far too comfortable to move. He smiled when he saw her.

"I wondered where you were," he told her, sleepily. She smiled, walked into the room, sat on the bed and brushed his hair out of his eyes with her fingertips.

"How do you feel now?" she asked gently. He nodded.

"Great, yeah, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I do worry about you," she said. He frowned.

"Why would you do that?" he asked. She pursed her lips in thought and shook her head briefly.

"It's just a hobby of mine, indulge me," she replied with a grin. He smiled ruefully.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself," he told her, quietly. There was something a little cold about the way he spoke to her and she initially just thought he still tired.

"I didn't say you couldn't take care of yourself, I said I was worried," she answered.

"It was just a dream," he reminded her, a little sulkily. She paused for a few moments, trying to figure out how best to word what she wanted to say next.

"It's all right, you know," she told him, eventually.

"What is?" he asked, a little sharply.

"You're allowed to be scared and upset and not know how to deal with stuff. It doesn't make you less of a man or anything, if that's what you think," she explained. It turned out that her words were taken as far more of an insult than she had intended. He gave her a look of disdain and rolled his eyes.

"Wow. I didn't know I needed permission to have feelings. That isn't patronising," he replied, sarcastically. His tone had suddenly become quite harsh and Rachel was a little taken aback by it. She frowned slightly.

"Don't be like that. I'm just saying, don't think you need to always be upbeat in front of me for my benefit. It won't make me feel any differently about you. I already like you. That won't change," she explained. He shot her a stern look.

"I don't do it for your benefit. I do it for mine," he told her. She frowned a little more deeply. This wasn't like him at all. He was funny and sweet and charming and mildly annoying all at the same time. He wasn't obnoxious.

"I wish you'd talk to me," she said, squeezing his arm gently.

"We're talking now," he retorted, coldly.

"No, we're playing mind-chess now," she pointed out. He looked at her and his eyes softened a little as he bit his lower lip.

"Please let's not talk," he murmured, squeezing her throat gently as he kissed her.

"It's an admirable tactic, but distracting me with sex won't always work, you know!" she answered, pushing him away, utterly baffled by his actions. He pouted.

"It won't?" he asked, a little disheartened. She shook her head.

"Not this time, I'm afraid," she answered. "I wasn't trying to insult your intelligence or anything. All I want to do is be a friend to you, but I feel like you won't let me get close enough to do that. It's like you're scared of telling me something. Why can't you talk to me?" She was acutely aware that she now sounded as though she was nagging him or whining, and although she didn't want to, she didn't know what else to do. All she wanted was to make sure he was all right, she couldn't understand why he was acting like this.

"Because I can't. It's nothing personal," he assured her. She shook her head.

"It feels as though it's personal. It's not easy to battle against a brick wall," she told him.

"So don't battle. This is only meant to be a bit of fun, right?" he reminded her.

"What if we've come too far now for it to just be a bit of fun?" she asked, quietly. This time he let out a snort of scornful laughter.

"What? You mean, like, feelings and shit?" he asked, disparagingly. Her face fell. He wasn't teasing her, he was deliberately making her feel stupid. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"You don't have to act like a child about it. It isn't very attractive," she answered, calmly.

"Thanks for the heads-up," he replied, petulantly. She swallowed again and glared at him.

"Do you really need to act like such a fuckwit?" she asked, trying her hardest not to be angry.

"Yep," he said, gazing firmly into middle distance. She could feel tears welling up inside her and she didn't even know why.

"There is no level on which you aren't pissing me off right now," she finally told him. He shrugged.

"I know."

There followed a lengthy silence where Rachel tried valiantly not to slap him across the face or to shout or scream or do anything that her gut was yelling at her to do. Her head told her there must be an explanation. This wasn't the Gordon she knew. Eventually she rubbed her hands over her face and got up to leave the room. "I really don't have to take this," she muttered. "You invited yourself here. This is my home." Gordon reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking up at her with wide, serious eyes. She closed her eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?

"It's okay," she answered, vaguely. He shook his head.

"No. It's not okay. I acted like a jerk and you haven't done anything to deserve it. You've only ever been good to me. You don't need me being an asshole," he told her. She couldn't argue with that statement. "I dunno what made me say any of that. I shouldn't have, I didn't mean it. That isn't me. I'm not that guy. I don't... I'm sorry."

"You told me not to ask," she reminded him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What are you, a robot?" he asked.

"No," she mouthed, shaking her head.

"So why wouldn't you at least be curious about me turning up on your doorstep looking like shit and smelling even worse and then having bad dreams and scaring you to death?" he asked. She shrugged and shook her head helplessly. He pulled her back onto the bed and she didn't struggle as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. "I shouldn't have asked to see you. I was upset and I just wanted to be with you. I just wanted to feel you next to me and have you hold me close to you because I felt like crap and I knew you'd make it all go away and that I'd feel better. But that isn't fair to you. It was selfish of me, and I'm sorry."

"Steady on, you've apologised three times now, don't men only get a very limited quota of sorrys per annum?" she answered, with a wry grin.

"Listen, you wanted serious, so I'm being serious," he told her, cupping her face in his hands and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I want to tell you absolutely everything about me. I really do. I don't want us to have any secrets. And I hate that I have to say this - but I just can't give you that. Because I know you're gonna ask why, or you're gonna not ask why, you're just gonna sit there and wonder and then you'll start coming up with all kinds of crazy ideas that aren't true and I can't do anything to change that, as much as I want to."

Rachel didn't answer immediately. One minute she was having a relationship-that-wasn't-a-relationship with a guy she liked more and more by the second - and now he'd almost become a stranger, he'd been secretive and moody and totally unlike himself. Every sensible fibre of her being screamed at her to send him home immediately. It was the fair thing to do. The kind thing to do. For both of them.

"This really isn't going to work, is it? I can't deal with this. I can't keep up. This has all changed too quickly. I can't take it. I should tell you to get out and that I never want to see you again," she told him. He shook his head vigorously.

"No, don't say that," he pleaded, kissing her all over her face and neck and pulling her back into another warm hug. "I can't leave here thinking I'm not going to see you again. Please don't say that, Rach, please. You're right - maybe we have come too far now. I like you way too much. And I know your pride is going to make you say you don't feel the same way about me, but you do and you know it," he told her. She paused for a while. He was completely right, she couldn't argue with him. That was the basic fact. She liked him too much. She wished, above all else, that she didn't.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked, quietly. He shook his head.

"I dunno, honey. I dunno what the answer is," he replied, honestly.

At that moment, Gordon's phone started bleeping. He looked over to the bedside table and leaned across to pick the phone up. It was a message from John telling him that Brains and Tin-Tin were on their way over with Scott and he should get to Creighton-Ward Mansion before ten o'clock that night. He had expected a little more time with Rachel but on reflection he supposed it would help the subterfuge if he was already at Penelope's home before the cavalry arrived.

"News from the mechanic?" she guessed. He nodded.

"Yeah. I gotta leave at around eight," he replied.

"I'd best think about making you some dinner before you go," she decided.

"Just me? Aren't you going to need dinner too?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, I'm going out tonight," she replied. He looked a little concerned.

"Who with?" he queried.

"With whom," she corrected him. "A tall, dark and handsome man is taking me out for dinner."

"What man?"

"Hey, you don't have the monopoly on secrets, sweetheart. Just because we've swapped bodily fluids doesn't mean you own me, y'know," she told him. He grinned.

"I guess I kinda asked for that," he said. She nodded.

"You did, a bit," she agreed.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by in a blur. Despite Rachel's belief that she had plenty of time to get ready, by the time she'd finished making dinner for Gordon and he'd insisted on doing the washing up - it was, he pointed out, the very least he could do under the circumstances - and she had tried on her new dress, discovered to her relief that it fitted and had finished putting her makeup on, there was a loud knock at the door.

"I'd hoped you'd be out of the way before my other man turned up!" Rachel called through. "Can you get that?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied, jogging down the hallway and flinging the door open exuberantly.

"Gordon?" Mark began, a little confused.

"Hey!" Gordon greeted him with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" Mark asked, frowning at him. Rachel came out into the hallway and grinned at Mark. She walked to the end of the hallway and slipped her hand into Gordon's.

"I'm just leaving. What are you doing here?" Gordon inquired.

"I'm taking Rachel out for dinner, what's it to you?" Mark asked, a little defensively. Gordon grinned and looked at Rachel.

"Mark? Mark's the tall, dark and handsome guy taking you out for dinner?" he asked, visibly relieved. Rachel shrugged.

"Well, he _is_ tall, dark and handsome," she replied. Mark nodded.

"I am all three of those things in abundance, it's quite true," he agreed. "Wait. You're leaving? When did you get here? When was this decided and why wasn't I told?!" he demanded.

"I don't have to tell you everything! I got a phonecall at six o'clock this morning from the boy to say he was stuck in London and could he use my shower," Rachel began.

"The boy?" Gordon repeated, a little hurt. Mark shot him a withering glare.

"Don't interrupt. Why did he want to use your shower? Was there nowhere nearer?"

"Well, there probably was, but I like to think he enjoys my scintillating company and dazzling wit," Rachel told him.

"Yes, it was definitely the thought of your scintillating company and dazzling wit that made me call," Gordon agreed, nodding vigorously. "That and the thought of your ample and perfectly formed ra-"

"Thank you, Gordon." Rachel interrupted, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"And now he's just going? Just like that? And you're both okay with this?" Mark asked.

"Well he can't stay in my flat forever," Rachel pointed out.

"I live on an island in the Pacific, the weather's nicer," Gordon added. Mark's jaw dropped.

"Why aren't you bloody going back with him?" he demanded, pointing at Gordon with his thumb.

"No room on the private jet," Rachel told him, wiggling her eyebrows as she said the words 'private jet'.

"He's got a what now?" Mark asked, unashamedly impressed. Rachel nodded. "Rachel, if you don't marry the boy, I bloody will."

"I...ummm... I'm too young to get married. My Grandma'd kill me," Gordon told him, apologetically. Rachel chuckled and shook her head.

"Don't frighten him, Gregson. That's my job. I think there's some wine in the cupboard, go and pour us a glass out while I say goodbye to the boy. Pour slowly," she instructed, shooing him into the kitchen.

"The boy? Really? The boy?" Gordon asked, completely put out.

"It's a term of endearment," she explained, ruffling his hair with her fingertips. "Believe it or not, he actually likes you. He hates most people on principle, you're very lucky. He always called Danny 'That Irish Wanker', so by comparison, 'the boy' is rather complimentary. Don't be grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy. Who's grumpy? I'm not grumpy!" he protested, grumpily.

"That's good, because if you were being grumpy then I wouldn't let you kiss me goodbye," she told him. He thought about this for a moment and suddenly his face lit up.

"Does that mean I'd get to stay?" he asked. She chuckled and shook her head.

"What about saving the world and all that stuff?" she reminded him.

"Maybe I could just save you," he suggested. Rachel's heart swelled a little in her chest and she had to catch her breath.

"Wow. That's a little profound for eight o'clock on a Friday night," she joked. He faltered for a moment.

"No, I don't mean existentially, I just mean from spiders in the bathtub and stuff," he explained, hurriedly. She nodded slowly.

"Ah, well. That's different, then. I could always do with someone to eradicate rogue arachnids in my flat," she agreed. "You make a very tempting offer. Let me think about it."

"C'mere," he murmured, pulling her close to him and kissing her. "Thank you for everything. I'm gonna go into next year's apology allowance, but I'm sorry again for being a jerk," he told her, tracing his fingertips across her cheek and down her throat. He felt her pulse thundering underneath his touch and he wished he didn't have to say goodbye.

"You are a jerk," she answered with a nod. "But you're a bloody cute one," she added, kissing his neck softly. "Now go home. Fly safe." He wrapped his arms around her and wordlessly held her close to him for as long as he possibly could before he knew he had to go. With a heavy sigh he finally let her go and braved a smile for her.

"Be good," he told her. She grinned and shook her head.

"Nah," she answered, gently half-pushing him off her doorstep. He turned and waved at her intermittently until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. She closed the front door behind her and slowly banged her head repeatedly against it. "ARGH!" she cried out in frustration.

"What's wrong?" Mark called through to her. Her shoulders dropped and she genuinely didn't know whether to laugh or cry for a moment. She rested her forehead against the door and let out a groan of an emotion she couldn't quite define.

"If the way I feel about that boy was tangible, I would rip it out of me right now and be done with it," she called back, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. Mark walked through to the hallway and paused, looking at her with pity as he saw his best friend slouched headfirst against her front door. He'd seen her in that state many times before, of course - but this time she wasn't drunk.

"He seems like one of the good guys," he told her, comfortingly, rubbing her back. She didn't move.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she replied, quietly.

"Come on, don't be silly. Out of all the idiots you've been out with, the little American boy seems like the nicest," he answered. She shrugged her shoulders but didn't move her head.

"He's not an idiot - and I'm not going out with him," she told him.

"In that case, you're an idiot," Mark told her, bluntly. "Is he too nice, is that the problem? You definitely don't want another dickhead like Danny O'Shaughnessy screwing your life up again, do you?" he asked.

"God, no. I definitely _do_ want a glass of wine, though," she decided, rubbing the back of her neck wearily as she finally stood up and turned to face him. Mark grinned at her.

"I'm way ahead of you, love," he reassured her, handing her a very large wine glass filled to the brim with Shiraz. She beamed at him, grabbed the glass from him and took a large, satisfying gulp.

"Just what the doctor ordered," she sighed, contentedly.


	13. Chapter Thirteen - The Goof

_**A/N:** Virgil v John... v Gordon... v Jeff? With an extra helping of Gordon v Grandma?! Really!? Yeah that's right. That's what this chapter is. I spoil you. I know. You don't have to tell me. Still, you're all worth it, you lovely lot!_

**Chapter Thirteen: The Goof**

The journey home from London was rather muted. Gordon had seemed in a peculiar mood for the entire journey and Virgil and John had no idea how to rouse him from it. They'd tried to ignore him, but the atmosphere had grown heavier. They'd asked if he was all right but he just nodded and replied in inarticulate monosyllabic grunts.

He missed Rachel. He missed her already and it hurt that he missed her. There was no point in telling anyone this, not least because of the inevitable teasing he would get. The resident prankster of the Tracy family was always fair game for any baiting, if only for his long-suffering family to finally get their own back on him, until his next prank, at least. Even if he did tell anyone - what could they do? How could they make the situation better? They couldn't bring Rachel out to the Island - she wouldn't come, for a start. They couldn't let him stay in London with her. No - he was stuck without her. He was stuck fast and he couldn't see a nice and easy way out for either of them.

Rachel was right. They'd come too far. It wasn't just a casual fling any more. But they were still too scared of hurting each other and getting hurt themselves to actually define what they really were to each other. He was tired and achy and confused. His head hurt and his neck hurt and he just wanted to go home and hide in his room for a day or two until the fuzziness cleared from his brain.

"How did it go?" John finally asked. Gordon shrugged.

"Real good, yeah. I slept great," he answered. John frowned slightly.

"You slept?" he repeated. Gordon nodded.

"Like a log."

"You get an unsolicited fifteen hours with your girlfriend-"

"She's technically not my girlfriend," Gordon interrupted. John narrowed his eyes at him.

"Whatever. And you... _slept_?" he asked. His younger brother had gone out into the wide world on behalf of all Tracy men whose girlfriends didn't live with them - and he'd just _slept_?!

"I did. She cooked two meals for me, and she cleaned my clothes and just left me sleeping practically the whole time. It was amazing," Gordon told him, cheerfully.

"You didn't have sex, but she cooked and cleaned for you? You're not married, are you?" John asked, dryly. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Ha ha," Gordon replied sarcastically. He paused and his eyes gleamed with mischief before he continued. "Besides, I took a little time out of my busy schedule of eating, sleeping and using all the hot water in her shower to well and truly rock her world. Say, you know who she reminds me of?" he suddenly realised, snapping his fingers.

"Who?"

"Miss Brandenburg. But English. She's even got that little lisp thing going. Her skirts aren't tight enough, though," he explained. John's eyes widened and Gordon could've sworn he saw his cheeks go a little pink at the mention of her name.

"Jesus! Tricia Brandenburg! That brings back memories!" John remembered, his tone taking on a rather hushed reverence. Gordon nodded, a smug grin plastered over his face.

"Aww, yeah!" he declared smugly, commencing an odd celebratory jig in his seat.

"Who's Miss Brandenburg?" Virgil asked, frowning.

"Gordon's Chemistry teacher in tenth grade," John explained. "A biologically accommodating science geek. She was in her mid-thirties but she only looked about twenty-five."

"And she had a great ass too," Gordon added, helpfully.

"Thank you, Gordon," Virgil replied with a sigh of despair.

"No, Virge, he's right. She did," John agreed. Virgil looked a little downcast by the revelation of his old school having a sexy Chemistry teacher without his knowledge.

"I don't remember her. My Chemistry teacher was Mr Paxton. He was like Albert Einstein with chronic halitosis. He had roughly the same level of sex appeal as a dissected toad," Virgil told them. John chuckled.

"Miss Brandenburg joined after you left. And in my last year. She wasn't my teacher. Not my _school_ teacher, anyway. If you know what I'm saying," he explained, wiggling his eyebrows slightly. Virgil's face fell.

"What?!" he asked, a little scandalised. John nodded.

"Well, I'd gone back to after I'd started college to help with her eighth-grade class for a bit of work experience and then, y'know... what happens in the staff room stays in the staff room!" he explained, smirking a little to himself. Gordon's jaw dropped.

"John! No! You didn't! Not Brandenburg!" he protested, horrified. John grinned and nodded.

"I did."

"I can't believe it. I expected more from her. Of all the guys she could've gone for!" Gordon lamented.

"I'll have you know that I'm unobtrusively sexy. Women don't find me threatening," John pointed out. "I'm more sort of Delta Male than Alpha Male."

"Maybe she thought you were gay and made you her project?" Virgil suggested. John shot him a look of derision.

"I don't think she thought I was gay," he replied, firmly.

"Well maybe not afterwards, but you do exude a distinct effeminate... thing," Virgil told him. John sat back a little in his chair, tilted his chin downwards slightly and raised his eyebrow.

"Hey, pot, it's the kettle here!" he retorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Virgil demanded.

"You used the word 'exude'. I think that's explanation enough in itself," John shot back at him. Virgil rolled his eyes and let out a 'hmph'.

"Having an extensive vocabulary doesn't mean I'm gay!" he advised, loftily. John's eyebrow raised further up his forehead until it almost disappeared into the curl at the front of his hair.

"No, but wearing a monogrammed smoking jacket and a cravat kinda does," he replied, without missing a beat. Gordon burst out laughing. Virgil glared back at his brother, not wishing to be beaten so easily.

"This from the guy who wears a lilac sash and owns a leopard print dressing gown," he answered. Gordon applauded heartily and clutched onto his sides as he laughed.

"It isn't my fault that pastels suit me! You're the artist, you should know about that kinda thing. Except you still insist on wearing yellow, which has never suited anyone before or since Ronald McDonald!" John told him. As much fun as it was to witness his brothers arguing like this, they were very close to home and Gordon needed to calm them both down before they landed.

"Ladies, please - can we calm down?" Gordon interrupted, placing his hands on their shoulders firmly. "You're gonna screw up my zen if you keep up with this shit."

There was a pause as his two elder brothers froze, then slowly turned their heads to look at him in disbelief.

"Your _zen_?!" John repeated, incredulously. Virgil looked at John and nodded.

"I think we have a winner," he commented, dryly.

"To think our gaydar never picked up on the kid before!" John agreed. Gordon held his hands up.

"Hey, leave me outta this - I'm the least gay out of all of you!" he protested, before silently wondering if there were in fact varying degrees of gay in order for one person to be more or less 'gay' than another. He wondered if it was an appropriate question to put to Mark, and instantly thought better of it.

"That's only the story you give us," Virgil retorted.

"Virgil's right, how do we know who this Rachel is? We've never seen her," John pointed out.

"She could be anyone," Virgil said.

"Of any gender," John added.

"I guess she could be anyone of any gender," Gordon agreed.

"You see!" Virgil declared, jubilantly.

"Except she isn't. She's very specifically a woman," Gordon told them, feeling a little defensive. Virgil looked at him with mock sympathy.

"You're upsetting the kid, Johnny," he told him.

"I'm not a kid!" Gordon snapped.

"He's not a kid, Virgil," John chided him. Gordon seriously considered strangling them both.

As if subconsciously knowing that his sons needed to be saved from killing each other at the same moment, Jeff decided to check in with them en-route.

"International Rescue calling Thunderbird Two," Jeff's voice boomed over the radio communicator.

"Dad, we're not on a mission, do you have to be so formal? Can't you just say, y'know... 'are you there' or 'hey', or 'sup homies' or something?" Gordon asked. There was a pause for a moment before his father replied.

"Gordon, I don't think anyone's actually said 'sup homies' in a non-ironic manner since approximately 1998," he answered, dryly. John and Virgil burst out laughing. "Did Penny take care of you while you were over there?"

"She always does, you know what she's like about English hospitality," Virgil replied with a grin.

"And how about you, Gordon?" Jeff asked. Gordon looked a little guilty.

"Yeah, what Virgil said," he replied, vaguely. "English hospitality, a lot of that," he agreed, brightening a little.

"Really? Because when I spoke to Penny she told me that you'd gone to visit a friend in London," Jeff told him. Gordon's face fell.

"Well... I... It wasn't shore leave, Dad!" he stammered. Jeff let out a low growl of frustration.

"We'll talk about how irresponsible you are and exactly what the running of a 'secret' organisation involves when you get home," he decided. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Can't wait for that," he muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" his father asked. Gordon smiled sweetly.

"FAB!" he answered, cheerfully.

"That's what I thought," Jeff replied, switching off communications.

Gordon spent a few minutes looking intently at both of his brothers, not too sure what to say to them first. John and Virgil looked a little uncomfortable but weren't sure how to avoid the subsequent conversation.

"Wow. Seriously. Thanks," he began sarcasatically. "You two did a great job of covering for me. Next time, I'll get Alan to cover for me. He's a jackass but at least he can keep his mouth shut!"

"Hey, don't look at us!" John protested.

"You only told us to keep your secret, you never asked Penelope to!" Virgil added. Gordon frowned angrily.

"She's a fucking secret agent, it's in her goddam job title to keep quiet!" he ranted.

"What, where Dad's concerned? She tells him everything," John reminded him. "He doesn't even need to ask her anything any more, it's automatic. Jeff Tracy's like her own personal truth serum," he muttered. Gordon looked at him quizzically

"Her own what now?" he asked. Virgil shuddered and John shook his head in despair.

"I said 'serum'," John replied, rolling the 'r'. Gordon let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God for that - I just got images I didn't need of those two!" he declared.

"You didn't need to share 'em!" Virgil lamented. Gordon and John exchanged a conspiritorial wink before Gordon cleared his throat and continued the conversation.

"You reckon Dad and Penny have ever-"

"Don't," Virgil interrupted, covering his face with his hand.

"You might be right, Gords. He's got that silver fox thing happening, I bet Penny's at least thought about it," John agreed, innocently.

"They do spend a lot of time together," Gordon reasoned.

"And I guess it gets cold in the winter in England. It's a great way to keep warm," John pointed out.

"That's true. Dad wouldn't like hypothermia at his age," Gordon added. John shook his head and pursed his lips in agreement.

"Not with his knees."

"Good job there's nothing wrong with his hips," Gordon commented. John's eyes gleamed, and he couldn't resist the obvious reply.

"They don't lie, baby."

"Will you two quit it?" Virgil snapped. John and Gordon both bit the insides of their cheeks until they almost drew blood in their attempts not to laugh.

"What's up with you?" Gordon asked, frowning.

"Penny's not with Dad, I'm just saying," Virgil replied, sulkily. He rolled his eyes as Gordon and John let out a dramatic "Ah!" of realisation.

"You're so jealous!" John declared.

"I'm not jealous!" Virgil replied, defensively.

"It's adorable," Gordon teased him.

"I'm not adorable!" Virgil argued, grumpily.

"He's got it so bad!" John told Gordon, reaching over and ruffling Virgil's hair. Virgil shoved his hand away impatiently.

"I do not, either, now will you both shut up and let me land?!" he demanded.

"Oh, I see, the first time in over a year, he needs silence to land Two," John teased.

"No, I don't need silence to land Two, I need you both to shut up if you have any special wish to keep breathing," Virgil told him.

"He's just so cute when he's mad, isn't he?" John asked, reaching over and ruffling Virgil's hair again. Virgil shot him a withering glare, which made John and Gordon laugh hysterically but they allowed Virgil to land without any further interruptions.

Eventually they made their way back to the living room where Jeff and Mrs Tracy were waiting for them. Nobody ever asked where Scott and Tin-Tin were if they weren't in the living room, they were always a little afraid of what the answer would be.

To her credit, at that moment, Tin-Tin was carrying out checks to Thunderbird One and Scott was helping her with the checklist. Which wasn't even a euphemism.

"Ah, here they are," Grandma began, hugging Virgil tightly, then kissing John before hugging him as well - and then giving Gordon an appraising look. "And here _he_ is. What's the saying? 'Home is the sailor, home from the sea' - or at the very least he's home from fornicating like a rock star in London!" she declared. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Nice to see you too, Grandma. C'mere," he insisted, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly. "Y'know, nobody has a way with words quite like you do."

"Well, if you can't say what the hell you like to your grandchildren then what's the point in growing old?" she asked. Gordon laughed. "I hope this girl cooked for you. Look at you, you look exhausted. What have you been doing? Don't tell me. I don't want to know what you've been doing. I hope she's got a good chiropractor - if you're going to keep having these marathons you've got to keep yourselves in good shape!"

"She has a great shape, I promise," Gordon assured her, giggling helplessly. His grandmother sighed. That wasn't what she meant at all. Gordon was far too much like her though - which may be why he held such a very special place in her heart - if he didn't want to talk about something, he practically had digitised skills in subject-changing.

Later on that evening, Gordon had taken a walk along the beach for an hour or two to clear his head, returned to the Villa and played chess with Tin-Tin for an hour. He couldn't have been concentrating because she won all three matches they played easily and he now owed her fifty dollars. She was a very expensive opponent. Brains still played for matchsticks.

He had wandered into the Games Room and had started going round the billiard table to see how quickly he could pot all fifteen balls, when his father walked in clutching two large glasses of bourbon.

"You're not the easiest guy to find round here, thought you'd be in the pool," he began, handing a glass to his son. Gordon took the glass from him and took a large, grateful swig.

"What's this in aid of?" Gordon asked. Jeff leaned against the billiard table and pushed himself up onto the edge.

"I told you I needed to talk to you. This isn't a lecture," he replied, taking another swig of bourbon. "This is a Concerned Dad Trying to do the Right Thing talk between two grown men."

"Are you sure?" Gordon asked, unimpressed. His father nodded.

"I'm afraid so. I need to know a lot more about this girl than you've told me," he answered.

"You've got her first name, what more do you want? Her shoe size?" Gordon asked, sarcastically. Jeff shot him a steely glare and Gordon backed down instantly. "I'm sorry."

"She's a stranger. You work for an organisation whose very survival depends upon secrecy. Do you know what you just risked by what you did? Do you have any idea what could have happened while you were over there?" Jeff demanded.

"You said this wasn't a lecture!" Gordon reminded him. Jeff wasn't put off.

"I said I was concerned," he answered. Gordon shifted nervously from foot to foot and looked around for an escape, even though he knew there wasn't one.

"You don't think you're overreacting?" he finally asked his father. The vein in Jeff's temple started to throb a little.

"No I do not think I'm overreacting!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the billiard table. Gordon's eyes widened. He would have hated to see how his father would've acted if he _had_ overreacted. "Who is this girl? We don't know her. She could be anyone, she could work for any organisation," he told her. Gordon's jaw dropped.

"Are you trying to say she's only having sex with me to get to International Rescue?" he asked. Jeff paused for a moment.

"Well... you don't know that she isn't!" he pointed out. Gordon's face lit up like Christmas.

"How about that! That's so awesome. I always thought being sexually exploited to get International Rescue's biggest secrets would be more Scott's thing. But it's me instead. This is like the best day of my whole life!" he declared. Jeff slammed the palm of his hand into his face.

"Be serious, Gordon," he pleaded, wearily. Gordon frowned.

"I am!" he replied, a little bewildered. "Dad, please - lay off. This isn't a serious thing. We're not even officially together. Or even unofficially. We aren't together at all."

"It isn't serious? When you place your own selfish wants above the security of International Rescue, it becomes serious to me. You went AWOL after a rescue just so you could screw her!" Jeff shot back at him.

"No! I went AWOL after a rescue to see her because I-" he paused, unable to say the words that almost fell out of his mouth. Jeff's eyes darkened.

"Yes?"

"I... I pulled a little kid out the rubble of a house," Gordon explained.

"You rescue people all the time, Gordon, what's so different about today?"

"You don't understand. I didn't rescue her. She was dead, Dad. Her head was smashed in," Gordon told him. Jeff's face fell, and he looked visibly sickened at the thought of seeing a small child in that state. He couldn't bring himself to imagine how he would have felt if it had been one of his boys at that age. Gordon refused to make eye contact with his father as he continued his stifled explanation. "I just... I just needed to see Rachel. It was more than - _that_. I dunno. I just needed to see her. I'm sorry."

"In that case, Gordon, I'm afraid, as much as you deny it, you've fallen for this girl. Which means it's far more serious than I thought," Jeff told him gently. Gordon shook his head stubbornly.

"I haven't fallen for her," he answered. Jeff shook his head in despair.

"You don't have to pretend with me. Falling in love isn't a crime, y'know."

"I didn't say it was. I just said I haven't fallen for her."

"We all knew there'd be big personal sacrifices to make for the greater good before we started the organisation," Jeff said. "This was always gonna be the toughest part. For everyone. You think I like seeing you this miserable when Rachel is the other side of the world and you can't be with her? You think I enjoy the look on your face when I know all you're thinking about is her? No. I don't. I'm your Dad and all I want is for you to be happy."

"I am happy."

"Would you be happier if she were here?"

"Of course I..." Gordon faltered. "No. No, I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't? Why?" Jeff asked, bemused.

"What if she did know about International Rescue? You know as well as I do what the dangers are out there. That's why it's a secret. We don't know who's after our technology - and we don't know what they'd do to get their hands on it. If Rachel knew anything about International Rescue, she would instantly be in danger. What if something happened to her?" Gordon demanded, gesticulating wildly. "She could be hurt, or killed, or... Jesus, Dad, I couldn't take it. She would be in constant danger - and it'd all be because of me. How does a guy live with himself, knowing he's constantly putting someone he cares about at so much risk?"

"Ask Scott," Jeff replied, simply. Gordon shook his head.

"That's different. Tin-Tin lives with us and she's a member of International Rescue, she takes the same risks as we do, she's every bit as committed to it as we are," he answered. "Rachel isn't. Even if we were together, she'd never come here. Not permanently."

"How do you know?" Jeff asked.

"Because I know her. She's too independent. She'd want to work for a living. She'd want to keep her own home. She wouldn't want to make those big sacrifices to be with me, and I wouldn't ask her to do it," Gordon replied.

"I don't admit to knowing much about women, Gordon - but I do know one thing," his father began.

"What's that?"

"You should _never_ presume that you know what they want. Because ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you don't have a damn clue," he answered, sagely. Gordon allowed himself a brief chuckle before draining his glass.

"I guess. The fact is, Dad - she doesn't know. She won't ever know. I'm not even going to see her again for another five months. She might've gotten bored with me by then," he reasoned. Jeff frowned and shook his head.

"Bored?" he repeated, incredulously. "Gordon, I've known you since before you were even a smudge on an ultrasound - and the one thing I can safely say about you is that I haven't been bored of you for one moment during the past twenty-three years."

"You're such a sap, Jeff Tracy!" Gordon declared.

"You tell anyone else that, and I'll kill you myself," he replied, his expression deadly serious. Gordon frowned for a moment, but burst out laughing as his father's face creased into a broad smile and he shot him a wink.


	14. Chapter Fourteen - The Bombshell

_**A/N:** Don't worry, it's all right, there are no real bombs in this. No Tracys, Lanes, Gregsons, Kyranos or Hackenbackers were harmed in the writing of this chapter. _

_Sorry about the ridiculous length of time for an update. Real Life has failed rather abysmally of late and I am now resolved to never ever get involved with it ever again. Also, I hate to say this but I probably won't be able to update again until the New Year, due to limited computer access away from work. So hopefully this will be enough to keep you going for the next ten days or so!_

**Chapter Fourteen - The Bombshell**

After Gordon returned home from London, he didn't hear from Rachel for quite some time. At first he wasn't too worried. There were rescues to go on, and he knew she was busy with work as well, coupled with the fact he still felt a little tense over their argument when he was last with her. Perhaps she thought it would be easier if they both cooled off a little. He had to agree with her. For someone who wasn't his girlfriend he did seem to spend a lot of his life thinking about her and talking to her. It was all getting a little too much for him.

She hadn't returned any of his calls, and although he was prepared for the eventuality that she might just have changed her mind about the whole thing, part of him was a little concerned that something had happened to her. This, he told himself, was the real reason that he'd called her repeatedly. It was nothing to do with how he felt about her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe. Keeping people safe was his job, after all. She was no different to any other person. Really, she wasn't.

He let out a heavy sigh as the dial tone paused and switched to voicemail.

_"Hello, it's me. If this voice isn't the 'me' you're expecting, you've got the wrong number. If, however, I am the correct 'me', leave your message after the beep and I'll call you back. Maybe."_

Gordon frowned as he heard the beep, cleared his throat and just hoped he wouldn't say anything stupid.

"Hey, sweetie, it's me. Again. This is message - uhm... fifteen. I really hope you're okay. And that I don't come across like some kind of psycho stalker now that I'm up to message fifteen. I'm home, I'm safe, I'm sat in front of my computer repeatedly clicking on Send and Receive like a nerd in case you've emailed. You haven't, incidentally. Guess you already know that, though. I'll, uhm... I dunno. I'll call you later. Buh-bye," he said, sighing heavily again as he hung up. "I can't believe she's reduced me to 'buh-bye'," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Trouble in paradise?" Virgil asked as he walked past. Gordon chuckled.

"Nah, she's just playing hard to get," he answered. Virgil looked at him disbelievingly.

"How many messages?" he asked. Gordon looked right at him for a couple of seconds, then looked away, shrugged casually and swallowed.

"Fifteen," he replied, carelessly. Virgil's eyes widened.

"Give it up, Gordon. She's not interested," he told him. Gordon frowned.

"What, are you kidding? I'm adorable!" he reminded him. Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Fifteen messages? Give it up," he advised him, seriously.

"She might be busy. Or on vacation. Or sick. It could be a zillion and one things," Gordon answered, trying to reassure himself more than Virgil.

"Including the fact she's just not interested," Virgil added.

"That's not a fact, that's an unsubstantiated theory," Gordon replied, loftily.

"Unsubstantiated by the fact you've left her fifteen voicemail messages and she hasn't called you back in how long?" Virgil asked. Gordon looked at the floor and shuffled his feet.

"Six weeks," he mumbled. Virgil let out a half-laugh, half-gasp of surprise.

"Six weeks? Gordon! Give. It. Up!" Virgil told him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him as he said each word. Gordon grabbed Virgil's shoulders and shook him in reponse.

"Not. Just. Yet," he answered, just as firmly. "I'll give it a week."

"When did you grow your own uterus?" Virgil asked, his left eyebrow raised so high it practically merged into his scalp.

"You're just jealous," Gordon answered, loftily. Virgil blinked a few times.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's it, I'm totally jealous of all that sweet FA you're getting from a girl who clearly isn't interested in you!" he retorted, dryly.

"She's interested, she's just..." Gordon flustered.

"Playing hard to get?" Virgil asked. Gordon nodded.

"Yeah. Totally."

"And why would she need to do that?"

"Well... I dunno, she's a woman, it's what they do, they do weird-ass things like that just to make sure you're paying attention!" Gordon explained, waving his hand dismissively.

"You wanna go tell that theory to Tin-Tin?" Virgil asked. Gordon genuinely looked terrified for a moment and he shook his head vigorously.

"No, thank you," he answered, politely.

At that moment, Gordon's phone started ringing. Both he and Virgil looked at the screen and were more than a little surprised to see Rachel's name flash up, along with a picture of her.

"That her?" Virgil asked. Gordon nodded.

"Yep."

"Not what I imagined," Virgil said. Gordon frowned.

"In a good way though, right?" he checked.

"Will you just answer the damn thing?" Virgil insisted.

"I can't, I dunno what to say!" Gordon told him. Virgil sighed and shook his head.

"You can never, ever give me shit for the cravat and smoking jacket ever again," he grumbled, and in one swift move, he snatched the phone from Gordon's hand and answered it. "Hey, this is Gordon's phone," he began, his free hand over Gordon's face, pushing him arm's length away so that Gordon couldn't reach him.

"Oh. I'm sorry, is he busy?" Rachel asked, a little taken aback by the unexpected sound of Virgil's velvety baritone voice that sounded like warm caramel resonating around her ears.

"No, he's just pussying out of talking to you," Virgil answered, truthfully. Rachel burst out laughing and Gordon seriously debated strangling his brother.

"I had no idea I was such an ogre," she told him. Virgil chuckled.

"Nah, he's just a young boy with a crush," he answered. Gordon had already started plotting the mother of all pranks on Virgil by way of revenge for this moment. Rachel giggled again. "I guess you wanna talk to him, huh?" he asked.

"Yes, please. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," she told him.

"I'm his brother, Virgil. And yes. We all know exactly who you are," he answered. Rachel giggled nervously.

"I see."

"Virgil will you put her down, please?" Gordon asked, loudly, grabbing at the phone and rueing the fact that his brother was five inches taller than him so he couldn't quite snatch it away from him as easily as he'd hoped.

"Yes, Virgil, put me down, I might like it - he'll only be intimdated!" she joked. Virgil chuckled dirtily but before he had chance to reply, Gordon had leapt onto his back, wrestled him to the ground and ousted the phone from his grip. "What on earth's going on?" Rachel asked, although all she received in reply were a few strained grunts and the general sound of playfighting. Eventually, Gordon had fought Virgil off and picked his phone up. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders before speaking.

"Hey, I was wondering what had happened to you - where've you been?" he asked, a little breathlessly.

"Your brother has a really sexy voice," she told him. He frowned momentarily at how direct she was about it, but quickly brightened.

"You want to hear Scott. The guy's got a voice so potent he once got a girl pregnant just by talking to her!" he told her.

"Really?" she asked, doubtfully.

"Nah. He still had to fuck her first," he replied, nonchalantly. She chuckled.

"You and your inimitable way with words," she answered, sarcastically. He laughed loudly.

"I'm just kidding. So where've you been?" he asked again.

"I've been avoiding you," she told him, truthfully. He pouted and frowned before replying.

"How's that been working out for you?" he inquired.

"Not very well, some idiot's left me fifteen voicemails and sent me twenty-three emails just to check I'm okay," she told him.

"What a jerk, can't someone tell him to take the hint?" he demanded.

"I'm talking about you," she answered quietly, after a brief pause. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Oh."

"Gordon, please stop being so adorable when I'm trying to avoid you. You're not helping," she told him, giggling. He grinned.

"You love it," he retorted.

"I do, and that's why you've got to stop it," she answered.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"It's all right, forget it. It's not your problem," she said, sounding as if she'd totally changed her mind about having a particular conversation with him.

"What isn't?"

"Never mind. Really," she insisted.

"Are you sick? Is something wrong?" he demanded, starting to panic a little.

"I don't know," she replied.

"Rach, if you're sick and there's something I can do, please tell me," he insisted.

"I genuinely don't know," she said, helplessly.

"What is it?" he asked, firmly. She exhaled slowly and paused for what felt like forever.

"There's really no easy way to say this," she began. Gordon rolled his eyes. He hated suspense.

"Just tell me, it can't be that bad!" he demanded.

"I think I might be pregnant," she blurted out. His eyes widened.

"You're what?" he asked, quietly.

"I said I think I-"

"I heard you," he interrupted.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, during which neither of them were too sure what to say. They then suddenly felt quite paranoid that nobody had said anything and still neither of them had anything helpful to say to each other. Eventually Rachel decided to break the silence.

"It isn't your problem," she assured him. Gordon frowned.

"Who said it was a problem?" he asked. She sighed.

"Gordon, we're not even together. We definitely didn't plan this. It's at the very least inconvenient," she pointed out. He couldn't argue with that.

"So, what are we gonna do?" he inquired.

"_We_? Nothing. _You're_ not going to do anything. This is _my_ mess," she answered, firmly. He frowned again.

"Are you telling me it isn't mine?" he asked, cautiously.

"What? No! Of course it's yours. It's just... I might not be. It's complicated," she explained.

"Enlighten me."

"I took two tests. One was positive, one was negative. So I went to the doctor for another test. That was inconclusive," she told him. Gordon was quite pleased that she couldn't see him at that moment because his facial expression was the dictionary definition of 'incredulous'.

"Inconclusive? I'm not an expert but how can it be inconclusive? You either are or you aren't," he pointed out. She sighed.

"Well, the likelihood is that I'm not. But I might be. Weird hormone levels. The doctor says that if I'm not pregnant I'm suffering from intense stress. She's signed me off work for five weeks," she told him.

"Five weeks?"

"She's suggested a holiday but I've no-one to go with. I don't like going away alone. Mark's on holiday with his boyfriend so I haven't even seen him in a fortnight," she said. If Mark had been there she knew she wouldn't have told Gordon at all, but she had nobody else to talk to about it and if she was completely honest she was really scared at that moment in time.

"A holiday? Why don't you come here?" he suggested.

"No, Gordon. It's sweet of you, it really is, but... wouldn't it be awkward?" she asked, cautiously.

"Awkward? Really? You wanna know what 'awkward' is?" he retorted. "What's awkward is trying to call you for six weeks and only getting your voicemail. What's awkward is going to sleep every night looking at the pillow next to me and not seeing you there. You actually physically being here - no. That isn't awkward," he told her, seriously. The smile that spread across her face when she heard his words genuinely made her cheeks hurt.

"What about your dad and your scary grandmother?" she asked. He let out a snort of derision.

"Grandma? She's a pussycat," he assured her.

"A pussycat like a house-cat or a pussycat like a tiger?" she checked. He paused.

"Meh... It varies," Gordon admitted. "She bakes one hell of a coconut crumble, though."

"I'm in," Rachel declared.

"When can you get here?" he asked.

"Are you serious? I can't afford to get the bus to work this week, let alone come to stay with you!" she told him, giggling.

"Just book the flights and I'll take care of it," he told her.

"You can't," she insisted.

"I can," he argued.

"But Gordon-"

"No buts, just do it," he interrupted, firmly.

"I like it when you take charge," she teased him. He nodded.

"Get used to it," he replied. She beamed.

"Ooooh!"

After promising to let him know the details of her flights, she hung up and he sat on his bed trying to figure out exactly how he was going to approach his father about the whole affair. That, he knew, was going to be the most difficult thing of all. Unless his father was in an exceptionally good mood that day. It was a Friday, and even though he wasn't based at the offices of Tracy Enterprises any more, he still always felt a little chipper and sprightly on a Friday, but a little grumpier than normal on a Monday. On reflection, Gordon decided that Friday was probably the best day of all to attempt to have this particular conversation with his father.

Jeff Tracy was not an unreasonable man and had, during Gordon's lifetime, proved to be just as much of a friend as a father to him. Jeff had always been approachable and, even though there were times he would have happily throttled his son for some of the harebrained things he had got up to in his short life, Gordon still had that child-like conviction that his father was the one person on earth who could solve any problem. He still had that belief because Jeff had never let him down and had never given him, or any of his sons, reason to believe anything else.

Gordon knew his father would understand the problems associated with being a young man away from home with a beautiful woman and that sometimes there wasn't always the opportunity to be as careful as he would normally be - and... well... he was sure his father would understand. After all, he'd practically written the manual on getting a woman pregnant. Besides, it was probably stress anyway, and there was probably nothing to worry about. In fact, Gordon decided that if he pitched the idea to his father correctly, he might completely miss out on the 'pregnant' bit altogether and only focus on the 'stress' bit.

Of course - the moment Jeff heard his son drop the P-bomb, all bets were off.

"Pregnant?" Jeff yelped, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Gordon shrugged.

"Probably not. But maybe," he answered. Jeff let out a groan of genuine pain.

"This is great." he muttered.

"You think so?" Gordon asked, hopefully. The discussion was already much easier than he'd imagined!

"No I do not think so, I was being sarcastic!" Jeff snapped, before adopting a slightly high-pitched voice in imitation of his penultimate son. "'It's nothing serious, Dad! Back off, Dad! I won't get her pregnant! We aren't all like you, Dad'! Really, Gordon? Really?!" he demanded. Gordon winced. The discusion was now almost exactly as he'd imagined.

"It's not my fault we don't carry that kind of protection around with us on missions!" Gordon protested. Jeff closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath.

"You're not supposed to nail the people you rescue!" he answered, his voice dangerously quiet.

"I didn't rescue her!" Gordon argued. Jeff narrowed his eyes and glared at Gordon.

"You couldn't have just - y'know, crazy idea here, you couldn't have just not had sex with her?" he suggested. Gordon let out a snort of laughter.

"Hell, no!" he answered. "What's the matter, big fella? You think you're too young to be a Grandpa?" he asked, punching Jeff in the arm. It took Jeff every last ounce of willpower not to punch Gordon back twice as hard.

"Definitely. And you're too young to be a father," he answered, firmly. Gordon shrugged.

"Hey, I was old enough to make it," he reasoned.

"That's really not the same thing, otherwise I'd've had more kids," Jeff answered, wearily. Gordon cringed.

"That's way too much information. Besides, she said she probably isn't. She just needs a doctor's-orders vacation," he explained. The colour instantly drained from Jeff's face.

"Oh, no," he muttered, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"So I thought it'd be a great idea, y'know, for everyone, if-"

"Gordon," Jeff interrupted. "If the next words out of your mouth are even close to being 'I've asked her to come stay with us' I will get Brains to give you a three hour lecture on the interworkings of Thunderbird Three," he warned him. Gordon paused.

"I thought it'd be a great idea for everyone if we thought about which pictures to use for the family Christmas cards this year. I know it's only May but you gotta be prepared, right?" he answered. Jeff looked baffled.

"Sorry?"

"Well I didn't want to say what you just said because I don't really give a crap about Thunderbird Three," Gordon admitted. "But Rachel's gonna come stay here for a couple weeks," he added.

"What?" Jeff demanded, his eyes starting to cloud over as dark spots danced before them.

"Don't be like that, you'll love her. She's real nice. She's definitely more scared of you than you are of her. In fact, most specifically she's scared shitless of Grandma," he told him.

"So at least the girl's got some sense," Jeff agreed.

"And, y'know, if you think about it - it is sort of a rescue," Gordon added. Jeff's face fell.

"Oh, great. I'm gonna be blinded by Gordon Logic now," he grumbled, burying his face in his hands.

"The doctor told her to take a vacation. She's in a really delicate frame of mind and she needs to escape from it all - and who better to rescue her than us? I mean where could be more relaxing than the Island? She's got the sun, she's got the ocean, she's got the beach, she's got Grandma's cooking, she's got... me..." he trailed off, starting to doubt his own reasoning.

"She'll have all that, sure she will," Jeff agreed. "You know what we have? We have four Thunderbird machines under this Island and a satellite in space with the possibility of a distress call at any second. Operation Cover-Up is fine for casual visitors who are only staying for a day or so. Just the idea of a couple weeks of her wandering around the place and stumbling on something she shouldn't is making me nervous," he pointed out.

"I guess we can't get Tin-Tin to distract her with the old water mamba routine every time there's a rescue," Gordon admitted. "I don't think Rachel would be into taking a look at Tin-Tin's water mamba anyway. But if she did, I'd hope they'd take pictures."

"Will you please focus?" Jeff barked. Gordon looked up at him guiltily.

"Sorry."

"Two weeks?" Jeff asked, after a silence so heavy Gordon felt he had actually gone deaf, so he jumped a little and looked curiously at his father for a moment.

"Yep," he replied.

"When?"

"Tuesday?" Gordon ventured, even though he had no idea when Rachel was actually due to arrive, or even if she'd decided to book her flights yet. Jeff rolled his eyes.

"Great, so we've got... what... seventy-two hours to plan some way to keep International Rescue a secret from this girl for two whole weeks. This just gets better," he grumbled.

"So she can come?" Gordon checked. Jeff sighed and shook his head.

"This is your mess, Gordon," he finally answered, grimly. "You come up with a plan to keep her suitably distracted for two weeks. I don't care what you do and I don't care how you do it."

"Jesus, Dad, don't say that!" Gordon protested, his eyes widening. Jeff ignored him and continued with his terms.

"If she wants to relax, fine, but if she even gets the slightest hint of an inkling that you're anything more than a just a spoiled rich kid living at home with your Dad... well. I won't say anything. I'll just leave you to your grandmother," he told him. Gordon swallowed hard.

"I won't let us down, Dad," he promised, fervently. Jeff nodded slowly.

"See that you don't," he warned him, fixing the Tracy death stare firmly upon Gordon. "Now get out of here before I get mad with you," he finished, burying his face in his hands again and wishing, not for the first time, that he'd decided on a vasectomy for his twenty-first birthday instead of a new car.

Gordon scampered off outside to the patio where Virgil was sat in his customary place, on the two-seater swing, drinking a cocktail and reading the latest issue of Kine magazine.

"You two kissed and made up?" Virgil asked, not looking up from his magazine.

"She says you've got a sexy voice," Gordon told him. The right side of Virgil's mouth twitched into a smug smile.

"She's only human," he replied. Gordon grinned.

"She's coming to stay," he added. Virgil paused, put down his magazine, picked up his cocktail and took a long, thoughtful sip.

"Does Dad know?" he asked, feigning disinterest.

"Yep."

"Grandma?"

"Nope."

Virgil put his drink down, pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and looked straight at Gordon for a few moments before an impish grin spread over his face.

"Bring on the fireworks," he answered, dryly.


	15. Chapter Fifteen - The Panic

_**A/N:** Again, this chapter started out being something else and I've had to completely rewrite it. My intended Chapter Fifteen will be next, but I thought it'd be nice to see them both get into a bit of a tizz about spending two whole weeks together. And there may or may not be a little clue as to what Grandma might get up to in Chapter Sixteen if you look closely enough...!_

_I apologise for the extremely late update. I did explain that the festive period would pose a problem, but there have also been a few... well... what feel like insurmountable issues going on at the moment in Real Life. I think, right now, I probably need this fanfic even more than you do, just to keep me as close to sane as I'm ever likely to get. So if that means it's going to last for more chapters than I originally anticipated then I'm afraid that's that!_

_Oh, and also, hello to **Lilyzinha **and **geuss**, and thank you so much for your reviews - but unfortunately you have your PM settings disabled so I've not been able to thank you privately._

_**NB:** Since I last updated this fic, the world has lost the genius that is Gerry Anderson. I would just like to express my sincere condolences and to add my appreciation and love for his work, which has helped shape my life more than anyone probably realises - even me. RIP Gez. Your legend will live on always, of that all your fans can assure you._

_And now... back to our story._

**Chapter Fifteen - The Panic**

**Heathrow Airport**

Rachel and Mark once again found themselves at the airport waiting for an aeroplane. Except, this time, it was Rachel who was flying out to meet Gordon - and this time, she was pregnant. Perhaps. Although she was mostly sure that she wasn't, the fact that every test she'd taken over the last week had been positive was starting to put a little doubt in her mind. Still. That didn't strictly mean that she was. She just might be. Anyway, whether she was or wasn't - the important thing was that Gordon had bought her flights to and from London so she could go and stay with him for two whole weeks on the private island in the Pacific that he lived on. She couldn't wait. She hadn't been out of the country for three years and she was desperate for a holiday. Besides, Mark had just come back from his holiday with his new boyfriend and she had been so jealous of their holiday snaps that she was now determined to have as many photographs taken of her lounging by the pool with a cocktail as she possibly could.

"I can't believe your boyfriend is flying you out to stay with him," Mark began, jumping up and down excitedly.

"For the zillionth time! He isn't my boyfriend!" Rachel protested, chuckling at the sight of a six foot three inch forty-year-old businessman in a three-piece Pierre Cardin suit jumping up and down like a teenage fangirl at the prospect of her going away for a couple of weeks.

"You're pregnant with his child and you're going to stay with him and his family - you have _got_ to admit you're more than just friends now!" Mark argued.

"I might not be pregnant. In fact I'm probably not. You know how unreliable I am on that front," she reminded him.

"You hope you are though, don't you?" he asked. Rachel looked taken aback.

"What?" she squeaked, then recovered quickly. "Don't be daft. I'm not pregnant, anyway. I just might be, that's all. Even if I am... I'd have a ginger baby. That'd be just unfortunate."

"Oh, don't tell me you've not wanted to have his ginger babies for the last six months!" Mark teased her. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Look, he's just being nice," she insisted.

"He's being more than nice. Find out if any of his brothers are gay and give them my number," he pleaded. "Or even if they aren't actually gay, if any of them are vaguely curious. I'll take that."

"What exactly would Jake have to say about that? Wasn't he the one who just bought you the fortnight in St Lucia?" Rachel asked. Mark shrugged.

"I'm sure we'd come to some sort of an arrangement," he replied dismissively. She chuckled and shook her head.

"Oh, I don't want to go," she groaned, running her hands through her hair in frustration. Mark frowned.

"So stay at home then. Without him. Alone. Miserable. Gordonless," he advised. She grinned.

"I may be Gordonless, but I won't be alone and miserable! I'll have you," she reminded him, brightly. Mark shook his head.

"That's very sweet of you, darling, but you _won't_ have me. I've got stuff to do of my own, you know," he told her. She sighed dramatically.

"Honestly, you get a man and I'm the first thing that goes to the bottom of your priorities list," she lamented. He nodded.

"It was ever thus," Mark agreed, sagely. "Anyway, I'm being cruel to be kind. You know you want to see the boy again, I don't understand why you're so worried."

"It's not him that's the problem. It's the fact he still lives with his dad, his grandmother, his four brothers - his brother's girlfriend and her dad... and some other random lodger!" she explained. Mark let out a low whistle.

"Bloody hell! I thought he said it was a private island?" he asked.

"He did say it was a private island."

"It sounds more like some sort of freakish hippie commune! You be careful, my darling, he'll have you in a kimono and eating a diet of chickpeas and brown rice before you can turn round! You'll have to give birth without so much as a paracetamol for the pain!" he declared, all sorts of bizarre scenarios running through his head, including a mildly disturbing one of Gordon rustling up a placenta and mushroom omelette after the baby was born. Mark shuddered and shook his head distastefully.

"It's not really the chickpeas and brown rice I mind - it's the volume of people in the same airspace as us. I won't be able to so much as look at him without nine pairs of eyes burning holes in me. Imagine if I did anything like hold his hand under the dinner table, they'd have us married off before I could blink!" Rachel explained.

"Holding hands under the table? Good god, woman, you two just get more adorable! It's sickening," he chuckled. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, do be quiet!" she snapped.

"You've fallen for him good and proper, haven't you?" Mark asked. Rachel glared at him for a moment. "I'm right, aren't I?" he asked. "You've fallen for him and you're dying for this to all work out but you're too much of a big wimp to admit it."

"I am not a wimp!" she protested. Mark tilted his head to one side, folded his arms and looked at her disbelievingly.

"Final call for Flight TX7215 to San Antonio," a voice called across the tannoy.

"This is such a bad idea," Rachel cried, clinging onto Mark for dear life. Mark hugged her tightly.

"In... however many hours, you'll be with him and he'll be running around after you like an excited little puppy and your little granite heart won't be able to stand it," Mark assured her.

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of!" she wailed into his chest. He burst out laughing.

"Stop being such a pussy and go and lounge on the beach for two weeks," Mark ordered. "You'll be fine."

"You can't come and rescue me if his grandmother's vile, though," she protested. He sighed and shook his head.

"Rachel, you work for the Director of Operations at the WASP headquarters in London. You bully that poor little balding man every single day of his miserable existence so he goes to meetings on time and has everything he needs at all times to stop him looking like an idiot in front of his colleagues. I am sure you will be more than a match for one little old lady," he pointed out. Rachel shook her head vigorously.

"Nah. Little old ladies are made of evil. She'll probably try poisoning the apple pie, like whatsername off Snow White" she told him. He frowned.

"The wicked queen?"

"Wasn't that your ex-boyfriend?" Rachel asked, frowning.

"You bitch!" Mark exclaimed with a shout of laughter. "Just go. Go on, bugger off. Call me when you get there. Have fun. Be safe," he advised, hugging her tightly and kissing the top of her head. He half pushed her to the departure lounge. "Go on! Don't make me have to drag you on that plane!" he insisted. She nodded and walked off. "Rach?" he called after her. She stopped and turned around. "He's not going to treat you like the others. I can tell," he told her, seriously. She smiled briefly.

"I'm scared," she told him. He shook his head.

"Don't be," he advised. She nodded, turned away and headed in the direction of the departure lounge. As she wandered across to passport control, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered.

**Tracy Island**

Gordon was not over-reacting and he was not panicking over the fact that Rachel was coming to stay and that he had no idea what on earth his grandmother was going to say to her. To say nothing of what any of his elder brothers - or Tin-Tin - might say to her. He wasn't worried about that, not one little bit. Far from it, in fact. He was his usual cool, calm and collected self. Or, at least, that was the story he tried to give everyone else while he ran around in a blind panic.

"How about this one? You think this looks better?" he asked Tin-Tin as he tried on his fourth different shirt. He'd worn this particular one for a bet once and convinced himself that he actually looked really good in it, despite being told several times that fuchsia pink and lime green isn't a good colour combination on anyone and especially not someone with his complexion. Tin-Tin frowned at him.

"Gordon, she already knows what you look like, you don't need to impress her," she reminded him. "And it's dreadful, why on earth haven't you thrown it out yet? It's got a hole in the sleeve, look! You can't wear that!" she insisted, pulling the material apart to show him the gaping hole running along the full length of the sleeve.

"I hate throwing things away," Gordon explained. Tin-Tin raised an eyebrow. Wordlessly, she made a beckoning gesture towards the shirt and fixed him with an impatient glare. "Oh c'mon!" he moaned.

"Give," she ordered. He sighed, took his shirt off and handed it to her. She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash can next to her. "You know you could probably just greet her dressed like that and she'd be happy," she told him, casting a cursory glance over him.

"Tin-Tin, I am not a piece of meat, don't objectify me!" he protested. She chuckled and shook her head.

"Gordon!" his grandmother called, barging into his bedroom without knocking. She stopped and looked at the scenario of Tin-Tin sat on Gordon's bed and Gordon stood without a shirt on, gave Tin-Tin a disapproving look and shook her head. "I'm glad you threw out that horrible shirt, anyway," she continued, pointing to the trash can. Tin-Tin grinned smugly but said nothing. "Hawaiian shirts don't even look good on Hawaiians, let alone... someone who looks like you."

"Gee, thanks Grandma, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself," Gordon replied, sarcastically. Mrs Tracy was completely unruffled.

"Anyway. You can't meet Rachel looking like that, she'll think you're some sort of sleazy sexual predator," she insisted.

"See! Grandma's on my side!" Gordon declared, jubilantly, holding his hand up for a high-five. He lowered his hand and cleared his throat awkwardly after almost disintegrating under his grandmother's steely glare.

"You know Tin-Tin has to set off in an hour or so to meet this Rachel girl at the airport. I have to prepare dinner. Is there anything she won't eat?" Mrs Tracy asked. Gordon shook his head.

"Nah, I think she'll fit right in with the dietary requirements of all the Tracys," Gordon replied with a grin. His grandmother nodded.

"Well at least she sounds different from that awful Russian girl. She wouldn't even eat a slice of pumpkin pie when she came over for dinner that night!"

"Oh, Rachel is so different from Anna it's like... you wouldn't believe it," Gordon assured her. "You'll like her. You _have_ to like her. For me. Be nice."

"Be nice?" Mrs Tracy repeated. "What do you mean, be nice? I'm _always_ nice! I'm a nice little old lady!" she protested. Gordon laughed.

"Remember how you were with Penny when she first came to stay at the Island with us that year?" he reminded her. She looked at the floor briefly, and Gordon could've almost sworn he saw her blush. "Well. Don't be like that with Rachel," he ordered. His grandmother grinned at him, her old eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'll try and behave, but you know how I forget myself after a glass of Kyrano's elderflower wine," she answered. Tin-Tin burst out laughing in remembrance of one time Mrs Tracy got drunk on some elderflower wine that her father had made and ended up being in bed for three weeks with a slipped disc after challenging him to a limbo contest on the patio.

"Yes, Grandma, we all remember that. I think Dad's still paying the medical bill off," Gordon answered, wearily. "Listen, I gotta finish getting dressed, and Tin-Tin's gotta go soon," he told her. She held a hand up to interrupt him.

"I can take a hint, young man. If anyone wants me I'll be making enough food to feed an army. If this girl really does eat like a Tracy and she's feeding for two, we're gonna need it," she pointed out, walking off. Gordon and Tin-Tin looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"So, are you excited?" Tin-Tin asked. Gordon pursed his lips and shrugged.

"Dunno. I guess," he answered. She frowned.

"You guess? You've been walking around for the last two months looking like a guy who lost a quarter and found a nickel, and you only guess you're excited about seeing her?" she inquired. Gordon nodded. He sat down next to Tin-Tin, leaned across her and picked up the white shirt he'd tried on first.

"I really want to see her, but... I dunno. I don't want to screw things up. It's like... serious if she meets everyone," he explained, putting the shirt on and fumbling with the buttons.

"It's already serious, Gordon, if she's having your child," she pointed out.

"But she might not be," he insisted. "She said she probably isn't."

"Do you want her to be?" Tin-Tin asked. Gordon looked at her and decided to not answer her question.

"Besides. This is a big, full house. Y'know? At her place, it's just her, and occasionally her best friend will drop by. Here, there's me going around playing pranks on everyone, Grandma and the completely uncensored link between her brain and her mouth, Dad and his thousand yard stare - and that's before I even begin to explain why we've got Brains living with us and - Jesus Christ! Wait till she meets Alan!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Alan isn't that bad," Tin-Tin answered, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. Gordon looked up at her, pointedly. "All right, fine, he's a little difficult sometimes."

"You're so diplomatic!" he chuckled. "What if we get a call-out while she's here? What if Grandma doesn't like her? What if Rach just thinks we're all too... I dunno... _American_?" he asked.

"I'm Malaysian," Tin-Tin replied, helpfully. "She'll love me!"

"I'm serious."

"I know. Hey, have you got a picture of her? I'll need to know what she looks like if I'm meeting her alone," she explained. Gordon thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He pressed a few buttons and flicked through the pictures until he found one of her that he'd taken while they were having lunch at the Savoy. "That's Rachel?" Tin-Tin asked, surprised. Gordon frowned.

"Why?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Just... she's not what... she doesn't seem your type," she said, tactfully. Gordon's frown deepened.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Why wouldn't she be my type?"

"Well, she's a little... umm... older than you are," she answered, carefully.

"I know that."

"And... well... she's not exactly-"

"Exactly what?" Gordon demanded.

"Nothing. It's just... I wasn't expecting someone who looked like... that," Tin-Tin said.

"Don't be such a bitch! She's beautiful!" he insisted. Tin-Tin frowned a little, not too sure if she could honestly use the word 'beautiful' about Rachel. She certainly looked nothing like any girl Gordon had ever dated before. "Look at her! She's got those big brown eyes, kinda like she's a cartoon, and she's got a huge smile, and you should see the way her nose crinkles when she smiles, and her hair smells like chocolate and I don't even know why, and-"

"If you like her, that's good enough for me," Tin-Tin finally interrupted, starting to feel a little nauseous. Gordon let out a snort of derision.

"That's what you say to a guy when he's started dating someone with the face of a warthog and the body of a hippo," he replied. Tin-Tin didn't reply immediately. "Shut up!" he grumbled, pushing her playfully in the arm.

"What if she's not pregnant?" Tin-Tin asked. Gordon shrugged.

"I guess... I guess we'll carry on as we were, maybe? I dunno. She'd already avoided me for six weeks, maybe she found someone else?" he suggested. "Maybe she's just not that into me and she just wants to let me down easily. She's a little older, maybe she thinks I'm too young."

"Do you really believe any of that bullshit?" Tin-Tin inquired, raising an eyebrow. Gordon let out an embarrassed breath of laughter.

"No. Yeah. I dunno," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Tin-Tin frowned and squeezed his arm gently.

"Gordon?" she began. He looked her in the eyes.

"What?"

"What if she _is_ pregnant?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Honestly?" he asked. She nodded. Gordon blushed and stared pointedly at the floor.

"I... I'd love it," he whispered. Tin-Tin squeezed his hand.

"Then I hope she is, too," she told him, quietly. He suddenly grabbed hold of her and hugged her tightly.

"Thanks," he said, no louder than a mumble. She hugged him back just as tightly.

"You're welcome," she answered. She stood up and pulled Gordon up with her. "Let's look at you," she decided, stepping back and looking him up and down. "You look very handsome," she told him with a grin. He shrugged.

"I know, right?" he agreed. She chuckled.

"Handsome and modest. No wonder Rachel can't resist you," she teased. He laughed. "Well, I'd best go and get her. Wouldn't want all Grandma's hard work to go to waste, would we?" she pointed out. Gordon shook his head. "I'll be back just in time for dinner, make sure Scott doesn't eat as fast as Mrs Tracy can cook!" she warned him with a giggle as she skipped out of his bedroom.

"Fly safe!" he called after her. He threw himself back onto his bed and sighed heavily. The only plan he really had at that moment in time was refusing to admit how he really felt about Rachel, because if he avoided saying the words enough, perhaps the feelings would go away. Even though he knew, deep down, that they wouldn't. He bit his lower lip, closed his eyes and sighed again.

"This is going to end so badly," he prophesied, covering his face with his pillow and letting out a groan of despair.


	16. Chapter Sixteen - The Island

_**A/N: **I know, I know - you wait aaages for an update and then two come along at once! It's like waiting for a bus! I'm not even going to mess about here. I'm just going to get straight down to it. As it were. I really hope you enjoy this - the first meeting between Rachel 'The Rocket' Lane and Grandma 'The Crusher' Tracy... *ding-ding*, Round One!_

**Chapter Sixteen - The Island**

The airfield was quiet and only a few people were milling about. Everyone seemed to be quite relaxed, and most people looked as though they knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing. Except, of course, for a tall, blonde, slightly overweight woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She looked terribly nervous and was clutching a tiny suitcase as though her life depended on it. Tin-Tin looked from the picture of Rachel in her hand, to the woman in front of her, and back again a few times.

"Close enough," she muttered. She quickened her pace and walked over to her. "Rachel?" she began. The woman looked her up and down twice a little nervously before smiling cordially.

"Yes, that's me. Hello," Rachel replied, instantly feeling completely inferior to the beautiful young Eurasian girl with the giggle in her talk and the wiggle in her walk. "Are you Tin-Tin?" she asked, hopefully.

"Yes, I am, I've come to take you back to the Island. Gordon would've come with me but it's a two-seater plane," Tin-Tin explained. Her smile was friendly and her tone was warm and genuine. For someone who looked so beautiful, Tin-Tin didn't seem to emit any significant 'Grade A Bitch' vibes. In fact, she seemed very nice indeed. There again, Gordon had said that she was his best friend, so Rachel decided that she must be all right.

"Of course, that's right, Gordon did say you'd be here. Thank you ever so much for getting me," she answered, politely.

"It's not a problem, it's the least I can do. You should see his face, he's as excited as a kid at Christmas!" Tin-Tin told her with a chuckle. Rachel beamed at her.

"Is he really?" she asked, biting her lower lip shyly. Tin-Tin looked up at her and didn't reply for a few moments as she was trying to formulate an opinion of Rachel. Suddenly she grinned at her.

"Why shouldn't he be excited to see you?" she asked. Rachel shrugged and suddenly looked terribly ungainly, as if the thought alone of seeing Gordon again had transformed her into an awkward and self-conscious twelve-year-old schoolgirl again.

"Well... I dunno. It's only me," she answered, staring firmly at her hands while she played with her fingers. Tin-Tin smiled warmly. Gordon was right, she wasn't like any other girl he'd ever known before - and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"You know you're going to be spoiled to death when you get to the Island, don't you?" she asked. Rachel frowned briefly.

"Me? Why?" she asked, incredulously. Tin-Tin frowned back at her.

"You're kidding? You might be carrying the first grandson of Jeff Tracy. It's a pretty big deal," she told her, dramatically. "For one thing, it takes the pressure off of Scott and I - so thank you for that. For another thing - Mr Tracy's still reeling from the shock that Gordon's got a girl. Although I guess he'd've fallen off his perch if it'd been Alan," Tin-Tin mused.

"They know I'm probably not pregnant though, right? This is just a holiday, they do know that?" Rachel checked, a little nervously. Tin-Tin shrugged.

"Gordon's grandmother has heard the hint of a 'maybe' and that's good enough for her," she replied. "She's already started going through knitting patterns." Rachel sighed and shook her head.

"I did tell Gordon not to make a fuss," she apologised. Tin-Tin chuckled and squeezed her arm.

"You have a lot to learn about the Tracys. Making a fuss is what they do best," she answered, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling mischievously. Rachel let out a breath of laughter.

The flight to Tracy Island was only an hour and a half long. Aside from the gorgeous views of the Pacific from their vantage point, Rachel and Tin-Tin had more questions for each other than they could fit in during the time they were in the air. It was very exciting for Rachel as there had been so many things she had been desperate to ask about Gordon's life but hadn't wanted to say the wrong thing or cause him any offence, but Tin-Tin, as if she had read her mind, was gleefully filling Rachel in on all the finer details of Gordon's short yet eventful life; the heights, ages, shoe sizes and brief medical histories of all four of his brothers - along with detailed character profiles of Gordon's father and grandmother.

In return, Rachel had told Tin-Tin exactly how her and Gordon had met - or at least, she told her the simplified Disney version, and how she was still scratching her head over how sudden everything seemed and how she kept on expecting him to tell her the whole thing was a big joke or a big misunderstanding at any minute. Tin-Tin frowned.

"What makes you say that?" she asked. Rachel shrugged.

"Well, there seems to be something he's not telling me. I'm not entirely convinced that he isn't already married with half a dozen kids or something!" she told her. After a moment's pause she chuckled to herself. "I sound so paranoid!" she admitted, which made Tin-Tin giggle. "It's just... well... I don't think we're very well matched. We don't look like we belong together. I look old enough to be his mother, and I probably am on certain council estates in the North of England!"

"You can't be that much older than him, what are you - twenty-five?" Tin-Tin asked. Rachel's eyes widened.

"Are you serious?" she asked, hopefully. Tin-Tin shrugged.

"You can't be any older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight!" she replied. Rachel beamed at her.

"Y'know, I think you and I are going to be great friends already," she decided with a nod. Tin-Tin grinned but didn't reply. "So what was Gordon up to when you left him?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, he's still getting ready," Tin-Tin answered, carelessly.

"Getting ready? I already know what he looks like, he doesn't need to make an effort!" Rachel pointed out. a little baffled. Tin-Tin pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side.

"That's what I told him," she agreed, before grinning and casting her a brief glance. "Luckily for you I've finally managed to get him to throw out that terrible Hawaiian shirt he'd almost decided on."

"Are you telling me that Gordon Tracy owns a Hawaiian shirt?" Rachel asked, horrified. Tin-Tin shook her head.

"No, I'm telling you that until I intervened, he owned one. Past tense now," Tin-Tin assured her. Rachel let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you!" she answered, seriously. They paused for a moment, realised how silly their conversation would sound to anyone else and promptly burst out laughing. "I wonder what he's up to now?" Rachel asked, looking out of the window and wondering which small patch of land belonged to the Tracy family.

At the exact moment that Rachel asked the mostly-rhetorical question, Gordon was pacing anxiously up and down the lounge, waiting for them to arrive home. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he finally saw the plane coming in to land.

"She's here! Everyone act normal!" he yelped. John raised an eyebrow at him.

"You really want that?" he asked. Gordon thought about it for a moment and shook his head.

"Everybody act like... ordinary human beings! Just until she settles in!" he corrected himself. "She's English, they adapt to weird shit better than we do," he added with a bemused shrug. He ran his hands through his hair, adjusted his shirt and quickly checked his reflection in the French windows. "Okay," he muttered, taking a deep breath and dashing outside where he promptly bumped into his father, knocking him clean off his feet so that he landed heavily on the floor with a shout of surprise.

"Sorry Dad!" he called over his shoulder, racing down the hallway without stopping to check that he hadn't dislocated his father's hip, or that some such other freak accident had befallen the patriarch of the Tracy family. Jeff sat on the floor, his knees hunched up to his chest, for a few moments as he attempted to get his breath back.

"Gordon, you don't need to scram out of here like your ass is on fire - Tin-Tin hasn't even landed yet!" he yelled as he saw Gordon disappear around the corner. He groaned with effort as he pulled himself up onto his knees and, with the aid of the wall, managed to get himself back into a standing position. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Kids!" he mumbled, rolling his eyes. "I don't think I ever had that much energy!" he said aloud to himself, just as his mother walked past and overheard him.

"You did, Jeff," she told him, helpfully. "Remember that time you took Jessica Maynard out to the-"

"Thank you, Mother," Jeff interrupted, holding his hand up to stop her reminding him of an ex-girlfriend he'd really rather forget. "How are the dinner preparations coming along?" he asked, in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

"I'm not just here to cook and clean for you, y'know!" his mother protested. "I'm in my late seventies now, I'm no spring chicken!" she pointed out.

"You offered to do it," Jeff reminded her. His mother frowned, not really having much of an argument for his statement.

"Well, everything's ready," she finally relented. "But I'm not going to like this girl!" she insisted.

"She mightn't be all bad," Jeff reasoned. "You might like her. She might be nice. Gordon certainly seems smitten with her." Mrs Tracy shook her head.

"It all seems too convenient for my liking, this possible pregnancy spiel," she answered. "She's up to something! I can tell! She's after Gordon's Trust Fund!"

"He's either gonna waste it on a woman or on something stupid like the world's largest Oreo," Jeff reasoned. "At least this way we get to actually meet the girl for ourselves. I don't like all this air of mystery Gordon's kept around her," he admitted. Mrs Tracy nodded her agreement.

"I don't like it either. There's something fishy going on. You mark my words. I still say he'll marry her though. Look at his shirt. He ironed it himself," she pointed out. "You can tell he did it. It's creased to hell," she added.

"This... this Rachel girl. Haven't you considered that she... y'know. Well. I'm just saying. She might genuinely just... y'know... she might really like Gordon," Jeff answered. They both paused for a few moments and burst out laughing.

"You've been watching way too many Disney movies, Jefferson Grant Tracy," his mother told him, giggling as she ruffled his hair. He let out a groan of protest as he smoothed his hair back into place. "I've got things to do," she declared, wandering back in the direction of the kitchen.

"I wonder if it _is_ too late to get her into a nursing home?" Jeff muttered to himself, not for the first time, as he walked to the Games Room. He had recently moved the drinks cabinet back in there so he'd look more athletic than alcoholic when he kept disappearing into the room every half hour or so and returned with a full glass of bourbon. Nobody was fooled for a moment, but at least it left Jeff with his pride intact.

By the time Gordon arrived at the hangar, Tin-Tin had just landed and he ran over to help Rachel out of the plane.

"Are you ever a sight for sore eyes!" he began, excitedly, clutching her arm to steady her as she took the last couple of steps down to terra firma. Rachel beamed at him.

"Hello yourself," she replied, a little shyly. Tin-Tin looked at both of them and clasped her hands to her chest in the same way she would if she watched a television commercial featuring puppies or ducklings. She smiled, letting out a sigh of contentment at the sight before her.

"I'm okay too, thanks for your concern, Gordon," she piped up. Gordon screwed his eyes shut, shook his head briefly and looked over at Tin-Tin.

"How was your flight?" he asked, politely. Tin-Tin chuckled.

"You don't care, do you? She's here now," she answered. Gordon grinned.

"You're right, I don't," he agreed, giggling. "Umm... Rach, I'll show you to your room before you meet my weirdass family, if you like," he decided. Rachel shrugged and nodded, not particularly reassured by his description.

"Don't be too long, Gordon, otherwise Mrs Tracy will come looking for you - and she really doesn't care what sort of a state of undress you're in when dinner's ready," Tin-Tin warned them. "Remember that time that Scott and I-"

"Yes, thank you Tin-Tin, I remember. Don't need those images," Gordon answered, holding a hand up to interrupt her, unwittingly mirroring his father's gesture and facial expression of only ten minutes earlier. Tin-Tin giggled at him.

"See you later," she finished, scampering off before Rachel had chance to thank her again for flying her out to the Island. She made a mental note to do that later. She hated these social situations. The polite part of her brain had completely switched into overdrive and she was annoying herself with how often she said 'please' and 'thank you'.

"Welcome to the Island," he began, biting his lower lip and being utterly unsure of what else to say.

"Thank you very much, it's very sweet of you all to let me stay with you," Rachel replied, politely. Gordon shrugged and shuffled awkwardly where he stood. After a few moments he let out a heavy sigh.

"That's it," he declared, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Rachel tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It's been seven weeks, four days, sixteen hours and..." he paused and looked at his watch, "Forty three minutes since I last did this," he explained, before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close to him. He softly traced the outline of her lips with his own and rubbed his nose against hers. She wound strands of his hair round her fingers and pulled gently at his hair as he wrapped his arms more firmly around her and planted a gentle trail of kisses down her throat.

"Are you going to kiss me properly now?" she whispered.

"What's the magic word?" he teased, his lips only just touching hers.

"C'mere," she insisted, kissing him softly.

"I've missed you," he murmured, pulling her back to him and kissing her more forcefully. Eventually, she pulled away again, a little breathless. He ran his fingers through her hair and smiled softly at her. "This'll all work out just right, you know that, don't you?" he checked. She didn't reply straight away, she just looked at him and gave him a half-smile that she hoped was more reassuring than sceptical.

"Come on, they'll send out a search party for us and your grandmother will skin me alive for molesting you and it'll just all be very awkward," she decided with a nod. Gordon laughed.

"You're shit-scared of her, aren't you?" he asked. She swallowed, straightened her shoulders and looked straight at him, confidently.

"Yep," she answered, quickly. "Come on. Be a good boy and show me to my room," she instructed, winking at him. He giggled dirtily.

"What if I showed you to my room?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't care where you show me to, just get me out of this hangar for God's sake!" she insisted, before laughing at how grumpy she sounded.

Gordon obediently showed Rachel to her own room. She reapplied her makeup after discovering that her hair was messed up, her mascara had run and she looked uncannily like an escapee from an asylum in a Gothic novel, which wasn't really the best look for meeting new people. They finally made their way to the living room to meet the others. Rachel was literally shaking with fear as she tried her best to walk behind Gordon.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

"The last time I met a guy's family, I married him," she whispered. He smiled.

"I don't think it's a rule," he assured her. "My family don't bite. Well. Apparently Scott does. Sometimes. But not very hard. So I'm told," he added, helpfully. "Except for that one time..." he trailed off. Rachel wasn't actually listening to him as she suddenly felt really rather sick. She hoped it was the stress of meeting the Tracy family and not morning sickness. Besides, it was five o'clock in the evening, so she decided that it was too late for morning sickness, even though she knew it probably wasn't.

"What if they hate me?" she asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and burying her face in his shoulder. Gordon let out a snort of laughter as he wrapped his arms around her.

"What? They'll love you! Look at you, you're adorable. C'mon, stop being such a pussy, you can do this. Jesus, Rachel, you bully the Director of Ops at WASP HQ often enough, you're more than a match for the Tracys!" he pointed out, pulling away and squeezing her shoulders comfortingly. Rachel looked at him sharply.

"Have you been talking to Mark?" she asked, confused. He frowned.

"No, why?" he asked, bewildered. She shook her head, took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Never mind," she answered, hurriedly. She looked at him, frightened. Gordon had never seen a rabbit caught in headlights before, but he was sure that if he did, it would look a lot like Rachel at that moment. Only smaller, furrier and with longer ears. The rabbit, not Rachel. "Kiss me for luck?" she suggested, hopefully. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her firmly.

"You don't need luck, I was just taking advantage of the situation," he admitted with a grin, opening the living room door and half-pushing her inside.

Rachel stood in the expansive, open-plan living room and stared at all the people around her. A tall, overpoweringly attractive grey-haired man started walking towards her and she instinctively took a step backwards and clung onto Gordon's arm tightly until he winced.

"You must be Rachel," the man said in a deep, velvety voice, holding his hand out to her.

"I... I suppose I must be, yes. Yes, I am," she stammered, shaking his outstretched hand.

"I'm Jeff Tracy. Although I'm sure you guessed that," he told her, kindly. She studied his face carefully to try and see if she could see any family resemblance between him and Gordon. It wasn't until his lips twitched into a half-smile that she saw it and she smiled back at him, mostly in relief.

"Thank you so much for letting me stay with you, it's terribly kind of you," she told him, politely. She looked at the other men in the room, wide-eyed and curious. She couldn't mentally comprehend the fact that her... whatever Gordon was to her... came from such a large family consisting of so many ridiculously attractive men. She decided that there must have been something in the water in that part of Kansas.

"It's a pleasure," Jeff answered, smiling genially at her. She met his gaze and gulped, then squeezed Gordon's arm even more tightly.

"Rach, you're cutting off the circulation in my arm," Gordon told her, quietly. She instantly released her grasp on him, looked down and saw that she had left fingermarks in his arm.

"I am so sorry," she muttered, stroking his arm softly as if to try and make it better.

"To be honest with you, Rachel, we've all been a little curious to meet you," a tall, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes told her. Her jaw almost dropped and she gulped again. "I'm Scott, by the way," he told her, shaking her hand, before signalling to another dark-haired man and a blond-haired man. "These are two of our other brothers, Virgil and John," he introduced them. "Our youngest brother's working away at the moment," he added.

"We've already spoken on the phone," Virgil reminded her. She nodded and let out a breath of nervous laughter, as she suddenly realised she hadn't breathed since walking into the living room.

"Of course. Well. It's certainly a pleasure to meet the rest of you!" she told him with a grin and a wink. He chuckled.

"Likewise," he answered.

"We haven't spoken on the phone, but it's nice to meet you anyway," John told her, a playful smirk at the corner of his lips. Rachel chuckled.

"Thank you very much, you too," Rachel replied, politely. She paused for a moment before looking helplessly at Gordon. He nodded, almost knowing what she was thinking.

"Shall I get you a drink?" he asked.

"Yes please!" she replied, so enthusiastically and hurriedly that everyone chuckled. She flushed bright pink and shrugged. "You know what the English are like - if the sun's over the yardarm we're downing the ale like it's going out of fashion!" she joked, which elicited more polite giggles from the Tracy men. "Shall I help?" she asked, following Gordon into the kitchen. On their way in, Mrs Tracy stepped out of the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, looking Rachel up and down a few times, her arms folded and her facial expression a pictorial definition of 'disapproving'.

"So. You're Rachel?" she asked. Rachel gulped loudly and nodded.

"That's right, yes. Thank you ever so much for letting me stay with you," she replied, her voice trembling. Mrs Tracy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not letting you stay here, my girl. If I had my way you'd have been paid off already," she answered, bluntly. Rachel's eyes widened.

"Wait - do... do you think I'm... oh my god..." she stammered. She looked, horror-stricken, first at Grandma and then at Gordon and then back again. "I wouldn't... I'm not... I don't need... I'm..." she continued, not even sure what she was trying to say.

Mrs Tracy held her gaze, stonefaced, for a full fifteen seconds in stony silence, her arms still folded, before her eyes twinkled in that impish way of Gordon's and a broad smile creased her pink-cheeked face.

"I just hope you're ready for the amount of food Kyrano and I have prepared for tonight, young lady," she told her, shooting Rachel exactly the same cheeky wink that Rachel herself seen Gordon shoot at various people so many times before. Rachel beamed back at her.

"I'll give it a damn good go - thank you very much!" she answered with a chuckle. Gordon handed her a glass of something interesting-looking and she took a huge gulp. She frowned distastefully and looked at him questioningly. "What is this?" she asked.

"It's orange soda. You can't be too careful. What if you're... well... I don't want my eldest child being an alcoholic!" he pointed out, flushing slightly. Rachel smiled softly and squeezed his arm gently.

"That's very sweet of you," she told him, sincerely. She looked around the room again. "This is such a lovely house. Huge... I might get lost a hundred times a day and I'm sorry in advance. I'm terribly clumsy," she explained, embarrassed. Jeff smiled benevolently, but Gordon could see the glimmer of worry flicker across his face at the idea that Rachel might accidentally stumble on a corridor that she shouldn't.

"Well, we've got a little time before dinner, why don't I show you around?" Gordon suggested, taking Rachel's hand and leading her back towards the bedroom. Neither Rachel nor Gordon were entirely sure at that moment that Gordon's idea of 'showing her around' involved an actual tour of Tracy Villa and the immediate surrounding area. As it turned out, Jeff wasn't too sure of Gordon's intentions either.

"Gordon?" Jeff called after him. Gordon turned back for a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Please bear in mind dinner will be ready soon. If you aren't back in ten minutes, I'm coming to find you myself," he told him, sternly. Gordon didn't reply but his lips twitched into a cheeky smile.

"Ten minutes? Great, that's more than enough time for him to do it twice!" Rachel heard herself say. She gasped in horror and covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god, I don't even know why I said that - I am _so_ sorry!" she added, hurriedly, muffled by her hands still firmly clamped over her mouth.

Jeff stared at her, dumbstruck. Mrs Tracy stared at her. Scott, John, Virgil and Tin-Tin all stood staring at her, their mouths agape. Even Gordon looked a little surprised by her outburst.

Finally, and with one accord, the entire Tracy family collapsed into hysterical laughter.

"Something tells me you're gonna fit in here just fine," Scott told her with a chuckle, clapping her warmly on the shoulder. Rachel smiled and let out a sigh of relief. She certainly hoped so.


	17. Chapter Seventeen - The Family

_**A/N:** And yes, the Writer's Block totally struck again. I don't know. It's one of those, isn't it?! Sometimes the old inspiration hits like a Klitschko, sometimes it ignores you like a 13-year-old kid in a bad mood. But fingers crossed it's all right now. I know what's happening in the next... oooh... SEVEN CHAPTERS! But then after that the old block is looming at me again. Yes I said again. So there'll probably end up being about another 10 chapters to go on this thing. I know. I know, so much scope for total boredom to set in. I'm just warning you in advance so you've got plenty of time to run away in terror! _

_Anyway - let's see how a nice, relaxing, chilled out evening with the Tracy family goes for Rachel. __Ay caramba! Points will be handed out to anyone who spots the very obvious Stingray reference._

**Chapter Seventeen - The Family**

Rachel hardly said a word during dinner. In all honesty, she didn't really need to, as she was having a great time getting to know Gordon's family simply by watching them and listening to them interact with each other. She smiled as she watched Scott and Tin-Tin exchange sly smiles and long glances with each other, right before Tin-Tin launched into a fight with John over the last potato in the dish, before Kyrano brought a new bowlful to the table at just the right moment to stop the outbreak of World War Five. Virgil and Mr Tracy's deep discussion over whether the more manly drink was beer or bourbon made her chuckle, and she almost wanted to interrupt and tell them both it was definitely bourbon but suddenly realised that she was far too shy. Gordon was sat next to her, and she caught his eye as he shovelled forkfuls of food down his neck. He paused and swallowed his mouthful of fried chicken before briefly putting his hand underneath the table and squeezing her thigh gently. Rachel smiled and placed her hand on top of his.

"Hey," he whispered, not looking at her. She squeezed his hand. "Don't freak out on me, okay?" he pleaded. She shook her head, still smiling happily.

The other thing that contributed greatly to her happiness at that moment was the fact that Mrs Tracy and Kyrano had completely outdone themselves on the evening meal. She suddenly decided that if she _was_ eating for two, she needed to keep her strength up. Luckily she had found herself in a situation where having seconds, thirds - or even fourths of anything wasn't just accepted, it was positively encouraged. She had to admit it, there was a lot to be said for having a boyfriend-who-wasn't-a-boyfriend who lived with his entire family on a paradise island. Especially when at least two members of the extended family could cook as well as his grandmother and Tin-Tin's father.

"Are you okay?" Virgil asked her, suddenly interrupting her reverie. She looked a little taken aback, as though she had almost forgotten she was visible to the rest of them.

"Me? Yes. Yes, great thank you. This food is amazing. Thank you ever so much," she replied, scolding herself inwardly for her inability to do anything other than thank everyone profusely for everything.

"You seem a little quiet," he explained. She shook her head.

"No, I'm just listening. To be honest I'm not used to being around such a huge family any more, so it's nice to be able to just be here and absorb it all," she told him.

"Any more?" Mrs Tracy repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm an only child and I haven't had a great deal of contact with my parents since I was eighteen," Rachel began. Mrs Tracy let out a gasp of horror.

"That's terrible! Why not?" she demanded.

"Grandma!" Gordon protested. "It might be personal! Rach, ignore her if you like, we're in talks with the nearest retirement village to see if we can get her in," he apologised. "Fortunately, that's in Waikiki!" he added, shooting his grandmother a meaningful glare.

"It's only a question!" Mrs Tracy replied, dismissively. "After all, I know Jeff wouldn't go for so long without speaking to me, would you Jeff?" she asked. Jeff gazed off into middle distance, imagining for a moment what his life would be like if he was able to go for even as long as a week without speaking to his mother. Eventually he blinked once or twice, looked directly at Rachel and shot her a grin and a wink.

"This really isn't an interrogation you know, Rachel. It's just dinner. My mother's just a little overexcited," he apologised, ignoring the look of death his mother shot at him.

"Honestly, it's fine, I don't mind," she assured him, before looking back at Mrs Tracy. "My parents and I have never been especially close. After I moved to London - well, we've always just seemed to be too busy to see each other. We haven't fallen out or anything, we just... I don't know, we just don't see each other very often. But my ex-husband is from a large, Irish Catholic family. He had six brothers and sisters, and they usually brought their partners and their children along as well. Family meals were... well they were a lot like this, really," she explained with a grin. "I never thought I'd be sat around a table with so many people again!"

"Well, you're very welcome," Jeff told her with a smile. She smiled back gratefully.

"Thank you again," she answered. "And also, I have to say, Mrs Tracy - your cooking is infinitely better than my ex-mother-in-law's!" she added.

"Your ex-husband, you say?" Mrs Tracy asked. Gordon rolled his eyes. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed and he just wished he could somehow travel through time for an hour until dinner was over.

"Grandma, really," Scott began, not sure whether he felt more sorry for Rachel or Gordon as everyone seemed to be oddly fascinated by Grandma's interrogation of Gordon's girlfriend-who-wasn't-his-girlfriend. "You can't talk about this later?" he suggested.

"You're right, Scott," his grandmother replied. "I can't. What happened?" she asked Rachel, pointedly. Rachel blushed and started fingering the hem of the tablecloth awkwardly.

"Well, it's... uh... it's a little complicated," she began, groping in her mind for an appropriate response. "We just wanted different things," she finally offered, pathetically.

"He's a douche, Grandma," Gordon supplied with a disparaging nod.

"He's not-" Rachel suddenly stopped herself from saying 'that bad', before heaving a sigh and nodding. "He's an idiot," she agreed. "When I said 'we wanted different things', I meant that, basically, I wanted to be married to someone who isn't an idiot," she continued.

"You know who isn't an idiot?" Mrs Tracy asked, eagerly, seizing upon her opportunity to matchmake in her own subtle and unique manner. Rachel blinked, a little confused. "Gordon. Gordon isn't an idiot at all. In fact, he's a great guy," she added. Jeff shook his head and sighed at his mother's inimitable skills of tact and diplomacy.

"Oh my god!" Tin-Tin gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

"She totally went there!" Virgil began, flabbergasted.

"That woman is something else!" John muttered in disbelief.

"Are you gonna eat that, sweetie?" Scott asked Tin-Tin, pointing to the last piece of fried chicken on her plate. She shook her head absently and pushed her plate towards him.

"Jesus, Grandma, are you for real?" Gordon groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm not even related to her, I'm adopted," he told Rachel, literally in pain with embarrassment. Rachel burst out laughing and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"She's right though, you're not an idiot," she told him, brightly.

"Thanks," Gordon mumbled, blushing awkwardly.

"Oh, it's adorable," Virgil teased, shaking his head.

"I'm feeling a little nauseous already," John added, raising his eyebrow.

"Can you imagine their children?!" Tin-Tin asked. Suddenly the entire table hushed into an awkward silence and stared at Tin-Tin.

"Way to go," Scott muttered sarcastically. "That definitely didn't broach a difficult subject."

"You really had to mention children? Really?" Gordon asked, wearily.

"To be honest, it's highly doubtful that I am pregnant," Rachel assured everyone. "I mean, there are a few other things it could be. I've had certain difficulties in the past with getting pregnant at all, and it gets more diffcult the older you get, obviously, so-"

"Just how old are you, Rachel?" Mrs Tracy asked. Rachel's eyes widened. She had coped with all the other difficult questions a lot more easily than this one.

"Grandma, will you please give it a rest? You don't need to know, it doesn't matter - I don't even know! She's here for two weeks, there's plenty of time to find all those things out - you can stand down now!" Gordon teased her, squeezing Rachel's thigh again.

"No, really, it's fine. We may as well get all these questions out of the way as fast as we can," Rachel finally answered. "Well, I'm a little older than Gordon but... well, when I say a little, I mean I'm ... well..." Rachel cleared her throat as she uttered her next two words, hoping nobody would really hear her. "I'm thirty-six."

Scott dropped his fork. Virgil looked at John in surprise while John mouthed "thirty-SIX?!" at him in disbelief. Grandma started a coughing fit and had to excuse herself from the table, at which point Rachel finally allowed herself to exhale.

"Seriously?" Tin-Tin asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Rachel answered, blushing slightly.

"Be honest. What moisturiser do you use?" Tin-Tin demanded. Rachel laughed.

"Just whatever's on offer at the supermarket," she replied with a shrug. "All my Dad's family look really young, I think I get it from that side of the family," she explained.

"Did I ever tell you about my chemistry teacher in high school, Miss Brandenburg?" Gordon asked her, his eyes gleaming excitedly. Rachel frowned.

"No," she answered, slowly, unsure of exactly what his question had to do with the conversation. John chuckled.

"I think it's safe to say that Gordon's quite pleased with the cougar element of this situation," he explained with a knowing nod. Rachel's facial expression fluctuated between a frown and a smirk as her eyes twinkled.

"Oh, _I_ see," she replied, meaningfully, her lips pinching into an impish grin. "I hope you don't want me to start reciting the Periodic Table later?" she teased Gordon. He looked at her, wiggled his eyebrows and beamed at her.

"Would you?" he asked, seriously. Rachel blushed bright red.

"Gordon, really!" she chided him, suddenly feeling five other pairs of eyes burning into her.

"That's... quite an age gap," Jeff finally said. Rachel took a large swig of water and nodded.

"I suppose it is," she agreed. "Do you disapprove of it?" she asked, pointedly. Jeff's eyebrows raised a little. "I think it's only fair I get to ask a few questions of my own, it can't be your mother who has the monopoly on them," she pointed out. Tin-Tin squeezed Scott's hand tightly to stop herself from leaping up and high-fiving Rachel at that moment.

"Theoretically, yes, I guess I do disapprove," he answered. Gordon's face fell and he squeezed Rachel's hand tightly. "I'm sorry, but it wouldn't be fair to anyone if I wasn't completely honest. There are a lot of questions that I still have about you, about your life, about your motives to embark upon a relationship with my son-"

"Dad, I already told you, it's technically not a relationship," Gordon interrupted. Jeff ignored him and continued.

"I don't think that any of these questions or reservations are especially irrational, given that Gordon is my son and I love him, as do the rest of his family. We won't apologise for that. I'm sure you feel a certain degree of trepidation about these next two weeks yourself, and I'm sure you have many unanswered questions of your own about us," he finished.

"I do. I have lots of questions, actually," she replied, honestly. "But I suppose if, essentially, I didn't make your son happy, you wouldn't want me here - and if he didn't make me happy, then I certainly wouldn't be here. So I think for now, we'll have to leave the rest of our questions, our natural prejudices and evident worries to one side and just relax. Otherwise this is going to be a very stressful fortnight," she reasoned, smiling slightly towards the end of her sentence. Jeff held her gaze for a few moments, weighing up everything she had said and mulling it over in his mind. Then he uttered five words that none of his sons had ever heard him say before to any visitor to their home.

"Would you like a bourbon?" he inquired. She beamed at him.

"I would _love_ one," she replied with a nod. Gordon was so shocked that his father had willingly offered to part with his bourbon that he completely forgot to tell Rachel not to accept his offer just in case there was a child to worry about. He told himself that she probably knew what she was doing.

Eventually, long after dinner was finished and the dishes had been washed and put away, an argument erupted in the Games Room over why Tin-Tin always got to be Miss Scarlet during games of Clue! and why John couldn't be her for a change. Gordon and Rachel took this golden opportunity to slip away from the rest of the Tracy clan for a walk along the beach.

Rachel hadn't walked along a beach at night since a holiday she had been on six years earlier with Mark. They had taken a bottle of sangria each and started strolling casually along the beach. Suddenly they realised that they had no idea how long they had walked for, nor how far they had walked, and the tide was coming in. Utterly inebriated and completely hysterical, they started yelling for help, and as loudly as he could, Mark started calling for the _guardacostas_, as if by magic they would arrive. Eventually, they were rescued by a little old couple who were also walking along the beach, who kindly informed them that their hotel was only a ten-minute walk away. The couple also thanked them profusely for the hours of entertainment that Mark and Rachel had provided by walking up and down the same short stretch of beach, stopping for a chat, forgetting which direction they were walking in and heading off in the opposite direction.

Her walk with Gordon, however, was a little different. For starters, neither of them were drunk. Also, the weather was so much milder in the Pacific. Rachel had to admit, as much as she loved Mark, there was something even more appealing about strolling down the beach with Gordon's arm tightly around her waist.

"You're so lucky to have this view and these surroundings all the time," she told him. He shrugged.

"They don't deliver pizza at two in the morning over here. It's a drag," he replied. She chuckled.

"Yeah, I suppose there are some advantages to living in the city," she agreed with a smile. "I definitely get the better end of the deal where takeaways are concerned, but you have me beat with living on your own island with - well... with ALL your family," she told him, shaking her head slightly at the memory of her run-in with Mrs Tracy. Gordon blushed slightly and pulled her in for a hug.

"I'm sorry about them. They're just, uhm..." he trailed off. She stopped him with a kiss.

"It's fine. I didn't come to see them, I came to see you," she reminded him. "Your Dad seems all right. Tin-Tin's lovely. I don't think Scott ever stops eating and - I can't remember which one's John and which is Virgil but I can tell you now Mark would have a huge crush on both of them!" she chuckled. "I'll have to call him later tonight maybe."

"Later tonight? You mean you're not tired?" he asked. "It's been a really, _really_ long day," he pointed out. She shrugged.

"Not especially. According to my body clock it's still only late afternoon," she replied.

"You wanna go back in?" he suggested. Rachel shook her head vigorously.

"If we go back inside then your Grandmother is only going to give me one of those 'have you just molested my grandson' looks and I really don't have the energy for round two of her interrogation just yet!" she joked.

"But you haven't molested me!" he protested. She grinned wolfishly at him.

"I could have, though," she answered, not much louder than a whisper. Gordon's face lit up.

"Could you?" he asked, genuinely interested. She nodded and ran her fingers through his hair as she kissed him. "Y'know, there's another way back into the house that doesn't involve going through the lounge. I could take you back to your bedroom without anyone knowing we were there," he offered.

"I think you should take me there right now," Rachel decided, firmly. Gordon frowned.

"Thought you said you weren't tired?" he reminded her. She shook her head and lightly traced her fingers down his chest.

"I'm not."

"You're not?" he asked, a little confused. She leaned into him, so close that he wasn't sure if he could hear her heartbeat or his own pulse thundering in his ears.

"That, Mr Tracy, is an invitation. If you were smart, you'd take me back to my bedroom right now," she whispered just behind his ear. He gulped, pulled away and offered a salute.

"P.W.O.R!" he replied with a wink.


	18. Chapter Eighteen - The False Alarm

_**A/N:** Oh, I know what you're thinking. But don't judge a chapter by its title! Who knows what's going to happen?! Well. I do. Obviously. But you don't. Which is hopefully why you'll continue to read...! I believe that there are actually one or two Alan fans who read this story (I know, I know, I don't get it either but what can you do?) so especially for you, he will appear in this chapter. Briefly. Alan vs the tag team of Jeff & John. Don't tell me you don't want to see how that turns out..._

_Also, a very happy belated International Gordon Tracy Day to one and all. Of course, he's still 22. The sod never gets any older._

**Chapter Eighteen - The False Alarm**

Gordon usually awoke before anyone else on the Island anyway. There was usually some mischief to get up to, some preparation to lay for any pranks he had planned for the day, or just to spend a little time looking at and listening to the expansive ocean around him. That morning, however, he woke up in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, his face buried into the back of Rachel's neck. He stretched, yawned and brushed her hair away from her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled, kissing her neck. She shrugged a little and let out a 'mmm' in reply. He smirked to himself as he kissed her shoulder, then gently started nibbling at her shoulderblades before gently running the tip of his tongue along her spine.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, arching her back underneath his touch.

"I'll give you three guesses," he murmured between kisses, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke.

"Okay, you're playing the violin," she teased.

"Nuh-uh."

"Mmm, you're trying to come up with a good sociological debate for the current financial crisis in Equatorial Guinea?" she suggested. He let out a snort of laughter and shook his head. "Well in that case, I can only guess that you have something far more basic than that in mind?" she finished, rolling onto her back and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Bingo," he whispered, kissing her.

"What's that?" she asked, suddenly.

"What?"

"Smells like bacon," she said, sniffing the air.

"Probably is bacon, Grandma's been planning on making you an English breakfast for the last three days," Gordon told her. "We've got plenty of time, though."

Rachel's face drained of all colour and she felt an overwhelming sensation of nausea. With a strength neither of them knew she had, she pushed Gordon away from her so forcefully that he fell off the bed.

"The fuck was that for?!" he protested, confused. She covered her mouth with her hand and, not even bothering to wrap a blanket or a dressing gown around herself, she ran into the bathroom and was violently sick. Gordon looked a little put out. "I've never had that effect on a girl before," he muttered to himself. "Rach?" he called.

"Go away," she groaned, weakly.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just... Jesus I feel like shit," she blurted out before throwing up again. Gordon frowned. These were not exactly the kind of noises he'd hoped she'd be making by now.

"You want me to get you anything?" he called out.

"Just some water," she answered. He quickly pulled his jeans on and went to the kitchen. By the time he'd answered the 'how is she' question six times and had to physically stop Mrs Tracy from barging into Rachel's room to 'help', he finally returned to the bedroom to discover Rachel had showered and was sat on her bed in a clean pair of pyjamas, looking like something horrid had just chewed her up, thought better of it and spat her out again.

"Woah," he began, a little shocked.

"If I look half as crappy as I feel then I think I deserved that 'woah'," she murmured, smiling softly at him. Her face was as white as a sheet and she was so weak she could barely keep her head up.

"Was it something you ate?" he asked. She held her stomach and moaned softly.

"Don't say 'ate', for Christ's sake!" she pleaded. "I've been like this for a couple of weeks," she told him. "I'll be fine in an hour, I just need a little nap," she decided. He frowned.

"Every morning?" Gordon asked, tilting his head slightly. She nodded. "Tell me again why you don't think you're pregnant?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed and handing her the glass of water. She sipped it slowly and sighed.

"Because I didn't get pregnant the whole time I was married to a man who thought I was letting the side down by not having children right away," she answered. Gordon gasped.

"He said that?" he asked. She nodded.

"Him and his mother. They were pretty sure it was me, it was my fault. I came from a small family, he came from a big family, so it couldn't possibly be him. I did try. Honestly I did," she told him, tears glossing over her eyes.

"Rach, that's... that's not really how it works, even I know that," he told her, gently. She nodded.

"I know it isn't, but when you keep getting told... oh it doesn't matter, anyway. In the end I was glad I didn't have his children. I couldn't deal with bringing something into the world that had anything to do with him," she answered, shivering involuntarily at the very idea. "So... well... yeah. I just don't think I am. That's all."

"I mean I'm not an expert, I admit it. But I think we need to find out for definite one way or another. And I think I know someone who might be able to help. When you're feeling a little better later on this morning, we'll go see him, okay?" he asked. She nodded again.

"Okay," she agreed. "Will you... will you just cuddle me?" she asked. He grinned.

"I'm pretty sure you don't even need to ask that," he replied, pulling her down onto the bed and wrapping his arms tightly around her until both of them had fallen fast asleep.

An hour and a half later, they were headed towards Brains' lab. Gordon had told Rachel that Brains was some sort of a scientific genius and he had helped his father with the technological aspects of Tracy Enterprises since he was a kid. He had top level clearance for the CIA, FBI and any other acronym she could care to mention. He had invented technology that most people didn't even know existed but they couldn't actually survive on a day-to-day basis without it. If anyone knew any test Rachel could take to determine once and for all whether or not she was indeed carrying Gordon's baby, Brains would be the man to help them.

Rachel wasn't sure what to expect of Brains, but she wasn't expecting someone so much younger than her, someone so unassuming, who mostly looked at the floor when he spoke, and who hid behind a terrible haircut and ridiculously oversized glasses. Rachel was sure that if she were even a tenth as talented and clever as Brains she would have far more confidence than he seemed to show. Gordon had previously explained their situation to Brains and he invited them both to take a seat while he tidied away the jumble of scientific textbooks and equipment from his latest experiment.

"Are you sure you're qualified for this?" Rachel finally asked, a little nervously. "I mean I don't want to be rude, but I'd just like to know."

"Well, uh, I'm not a gy-gy-gyna-specialist, if that's w-what you mean," Brains replied. Rachel's eyes widened and she looked up at Gordon, horrified.

"Excuse me?" she spluttered, half out of her chair by the end of her short sentence. Gordon grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her chair.

"I d-did, however, create the t-technology for the testing a-apparatus used in many hospitals t-today," he added. Rachel was a little flabbergasted to say the least. She hadn't quite been expecting that answer.

"I didn't know that, Brains!" Gordon piped up, more than a little impressed. Brains shrugged.

"It was about t-ten years ago, I was j-just a kid," he explained, blushing slightly. Rachel really had no idea if she felt reassured by his modesty and evident genius, or grossly alarmed by the thought that a child had designed the technology for pregnancy testing.

"So, if this result is positive or negative, we can be absolutely sure that I either am or I'm not?" she finally asked. Brains nodded.

"This d-device takes into account hormone balances, medications that will affect the reading, and the menstrual cycle. If this t-test says you're p-pregnant, R-rachel, you r-really should believe it."

"So, what do you want? Is it a blood test?" she asked. Brains shook his head and handed her a small jar.

"I t-think you know w-what to do with this," he replied, blushing again. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"I dunno. You think medical science has advanced ridiculously in two hundred years, but women the world over are still reduced to pissing in a jar. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a woman to do that?!" she grumbled.

"Don't forget to wash your hands!" Gordon called after her, laughing at the look of death Rachel shot him from over her shoulder.

Brains and Gordon waited for Rachel to return, Gordon was already pacing up and down the room and making Brains feel a little dizzy. Eventually Rachel returned and bashfully handed the jar to Brains. He offered her some antibacterial hand gel and she almost emptied the lot into her hands as she tried to cleanse every last remnant of her contact with the jar from herself.

Brains took the jar and placed it into a large, complicated looking machine, which proceeded to make varying whirring and beeping and buzzing sounds for what felt like a lifetime. Rachel felt sick with nerves and Gordon had never looked so serious in his entire life. They clutched onto each other's hand so tightly that their knuckles turned white. Eventually a reading was printed out at the other end of the machine and Brains studied the results for a few moments, making various 'hmm' and 'uh-huh' and 'ah!' noises to himself. It took all of Rachel's self-control not to leap up and start screaming at him to tell her what the result actually said.

"It's uh... are you r-ready?" Brains asked. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"C'mon Brains, don't play with me!" he pleaded.

"It's negative, isn't it?" Rachel asked, resignedly. Brains looked at her quizzically.

"W-what makes you say that?" he asked. Rachel shrugged.

"Just a feeling," she replied. Brains' eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips.

"It's uh, actually p-positive," he told them. Rachel stared at him, her mouth open. "You're p-pregnant," he added, helpfully. Rachel still stared at him. "I, uh... you're... you're g-going to have a b-baby," he continued. Rachel blinked twice, but didn't answer. "I-I'll leave you, uh, I'll leave you t-to it," he decided in a very quiet voice, before leaving the room.

Rachel and Gordon sat next to each other, holding hands and staring into middle distance. Each had entirely different thoughts running through their minds, but neither could keep hold of one thought long enough to say it out loud.

"Well," Rachel finally said in a bland voice. "That was unexpected."

"What do we do now?" Gordon asked. Rachel shrugged.

"I suppose I need to enquire with primary school waiting lists, arrange a scan at the hospital when I get back to England, tell Mark about it... book the christening if I decide I'm having one, sort out my maternity leave from the WASPs. I don't know, I've never done this before," she answered, trying to plan the child's first five years of life in the space of thirty seconds. Gordon cleared his throat.

"I, umm... I just meant, can I have a hug?" he asked, standing up and pulling her up from her seat as well. She gratefully allowed herself to be enveloped in his arms while the news finally started to sink in. "And please don't think you're doing this alone, because you don't need to. You've got me. I am involved, and I want to stay that way," he whispered into her hair.

"Are you sure? You can run off screaming any time you like," she assured him. "This is a really big deal. And I couldn't run away from it even if I wanted to. But you can. Any time you like. Just tell me. You don't owe me anything. I don't want anyone to think I've done this on purpose or I'm trying to tie you into a relationship neither of us want."

"Who says neither of us want a relationship?" Gordon asked. Rachel shook her head.

"No. Not this, not now," she begged. "Let me get my head round one thing at a time. I'm old," she reminded him. "Besides, you probably don't even want a family at your age," she pointed out. Gordon let out a snort of laughter.

"Are you kidding? Tracy men are known for spawning huge clans of sexy alpha males. It's what we do. I'm just the latest in a long line, honey," he told her, proudly. She raised an eyebrow.

"What if I'm having a girl?" she inquired. He frowned.

"She can be a sexy Alpha male too if she wants to be, I don't care how she identifies. I'll support her no matter what!" he replied. Rachel let out a shout of laughter.

"Must you always reduce everything to the ridiculous?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him and slouching enough so that she could rest her head in the curve of his neck and shoulder.

"Only if it helps," he answered.

"God, I love y-" she whispered, before her entire body stiffened and she stopped herself finishing her sentence. "Yellow!" she half-shouted. "I... erm... I love yellow. Yellow's a good colour for a room, isn't it? You know. Neutral. In case it isn't a boy," she asked, briskly, pulling away from him and tucking her hair behind her ears. Gordon looked at her doubtfully.

"Nice save," he answered, sarcastically. She looked up at him innocently.

"What?" she asked, her eyes wide. He looked back at her, equally innocently.

"I dunno."

"So are you going to tell your grandmother or shall I?" Rachel asked, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"Oh I think you should. It'll come as more of a shock," he answered with a chuckle. She giggled.

"You sod."

"I'm adorable," he reminded her.

"You tell yourself that, shortie," she muttered, kissing him. "Let's do it together," she decided.

"I kinda like it when you do it for me," Gordon replied. Rachel closed her eyes in despair and cleared her throat.

"I meant, let's tell your family together," she answered quietly. Gordon's eyes widened.

"What? That's... that's totally what I meant too," he told her, awkwardly. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nice save," she answered, dryly.

Fortunately, most of the Tracy family were congregated in the living room. Scott and Tin-Tin were canoodling on the couch and John was turning the music pages over for Virgil as he played the piano, while Jeff lounged in his favourite armchair, his eyes closed as he listened to his second-eldest son play. Mrs Tracy was finishing off clearing the dishes away after breakfast, but rushed in as she heard Gordon and Rachel come into the room.

"Are you feeling any better, Rachel?" Mrs Tracy asked. Rachel nodded.

"Yes, much better, thank you. In fact, I've just been to see Brains, and he says I'm absolutely fine," she assured her.

"I hope it wasn't our food," Jeff joked. Rachel chuckled and shook her head.

"No, apparently morning sickness is pretty common among pregnant women," she answered. Jeff started to laugh and then stopped as he realised what she had said.

"Are you telling us that-" he stammered. Rachel gripped Gordon's hand and nodded.

"I'm afraid so," she replied, not too sure what else to say or do. Gordon said nothing but grinned like a Cheshire cat at the entire room. Scott, Tin-Tin, John and Virgil had absolutely no idea how to react and were reduced to doing rather convincing impressions of goldfish whilst blinking in dumbfounded surprise.

"I... I don't know whether to congratulate you or rip my son a new one," Jeff told her after a rather dumbstruck pause.

"Congratulate me, it was very little to do with him," she answered without missing a beat.

"Hey!" Gordon protested. Rachel winked at him and nudged him playfully.

"Listen, I really don't want any of you to think that this is Gordon's responsibility, or that you have to accept me into your lives or anything. I'm not asking for that. I don't really know any of you - I suppose I don't even know Gordon that well really. I don't know if I want that level of commitment from any of you. This is _my_ child, and it will be brought up in England, and will require no financial help from anyone other than me. I want to make this very clear," she explained.

"Are you done?" Mrs Tracy asked, sighing and rolling her eyes like a sulky teenager. Rachel shrugged and nodded. "Well, let me tell you something, missy. I am damned if I will let any great-grandchild of mine come into this world without being spoiled rotten by its entire family. And by entire family, I mean this family. Do I make myself clear?" she asked. Rachel grinned.

"I'm very pleased we understand each other," she answered. Before she knew it, Mrs Tracy had pulled her into a very strong and not altogether unwelcome hug. Rachel directed a look of confusion with Gordon who just gestured an OK sign and grinned at her. Rachel shrugged a little and eventually managed to return the hug with some relief. It had been a long time since she had hugged a grandmother, and she had completely forgotten just how safe those hugs were. She wondered if grandmothers went to any sort of training school or if those sort of protective, comforting hugs just came naturally to them.

At that exact moment, a light started flashing on Jeff's desk, indicating that an emergency call had come through. He looked up at Scott, a little panicked, and with a swift exchanged look between Scott and Tin-Tin, Tin-Tin had come to the rescue in her own inimitable way.

"Rachel, why don't you come with me?" she asked, unwrapping herself from Scott's embrace and almost falling off the couch in her haste. "I must admit as soon as Gordon told us why you were coming to stay, I got a little carried away and saved so many children's clothing sites onto my favourites I don't even know where my hair and makeup sites are any more!" she explained, quickly grabbing Rachel by the arm and heading towards her room. "I can't let any honorary neice or nephew of mine spend their life not being fashionable, after all!" Rachel followed, a little overwhelmed. The Tracys almost felt sorry for her, but there was no time for those sorts of feelings as Jeff opened communication with the satellite station. Jeff was actually surprised to find himself feeling a little sorry for Rachel if he had to send Gordon on the impending mission. What if anything happened to him? She'd just found out she was carrying his child. That would be devastating. He shook his head quickly to try and get all such negative thoughts out of his mind before he spoke to Alan.

"International Rescue to Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Alan," he instructed. Alan's face flashed up on the wall.

"Hello, Father, what's the trouble?" Alan asked. Jeff frowned.

"You sent me the emergency signal, Alan, I'm asking you," his father replied. Alan blinked once or twice and shook his head.

"No, I don't think I did," he answered, cautiously. Jeff's frown deepened.

"I wouldn't have contacted you simply to ask how you were doing. Do you understand exactly what the situation is at Base right now?" he demanded. Alan shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Father, but I'm sure I didn't - oh!" he exclaimed in a fit of sudden realisation.

"Oh what?" Jeff asked. Alan looked at him sheepishly.

"I'd just rested a bowl of cornflakes on the control panel and it must have pushed that switch. I'm sorry," he explained, bashfully. Jeff's glower could clearly be felt above the Earth's atmosphere as Alan blushed and squirmed under his father's glare. Jeff's consternation, however, was not nearly as vitriolic as John's.

"WHAT?!" he yelled, horrified. "You're eating cornflakes at MY control panel?!" he demanded. "What the fuck do you think it is up there? Some shitty internet café? There's a dining area out there for a reason! Eat in the designated area! If I get back up there and I find so much as one crumb anywhere near my control panel, I swear to God, Alan, I will come down on you so hard you'll have to reach up to tie your shoelaces!" he ranted. Jeff rested his hand on John's arm to calm him.

"It's all right, son, I'm sure Alan knows what he did was highly irresponsible and he won't do it again. Right Alan?" Jeff asked, his piercing glare almost disintegrating Alan on the spot.

"Uh, I mean... ahm... Sure, Dad. I'm sorry John, it won't happen again," Alan assured him, hurriedly.

"Damn straight it won't, not if you want to keep your arms," John snarled at him.

"Are you absolutely sure there are no emergencies?" Jeff asked, ignoring John and his empty threats of violence. Alan shook his head.

"It's been pretty quiet up here, Dad. Hardly any emergencies of any kind, and the few that have happened are easily being tackled by the emergency services," he assured him.

"Well, that's something at least. No more false alarms, do you hear me?" he demanded. Alan shook his head.

"No, sir," he agreed. Jeff sighed.

"Very well. Oh, and by the way, you're going to be an uncle. We'll see you at the end of the month," he added. Before Alan had chance to respond, Jeff had closed communications. He rested his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

"Do you want a cup of coffee, Jeff?" his mother asked, comfortingly. Jeff shook his head and stood up slowly.

"I'm going to the Games Room and I do not want to be disturbed under any circumstances until I've decimated my drinks cabinet and my cigar box. It's been a hell of a day already," he declared, trudging out of the living room.

"But it's only eleven-thirty!" Virgil protested. His father sighed, looked up at Scott who nodded his agreement, and the two of them replied as one to Virgil's statement.

"It's five o'clock somewhere."


	19. Chapter Nineteen - The Call-Out

_**A/N:** Okay, so I'm back. I'm _**so **_sorry it took so much longer than I anticipated, but y'know. Stuff. I also had really chronic writer's block over this chapter which honestly took me weeks to get past. And, y'know, just writer's block in general which seems to have lifted a little (apologies to anyone who got a bit upset that I came out with a couple of Star Trek fics in my absence - I was just so excited that I'd actually managed to write something!). Anyway, the important thing is that I'm back and this chapter is finally finished. There will be heaps of drama over the next few chapters, so hold onto your hats!_

_Also, can I just at this moment, because I forgot to in my last A/N, give a huge shoutout and massive hugs to the gorgeous **L**__**exietFive**, because she has actually come up with a ship name for Gordon and Rachel. Which is just beyond amazing and it honestly made me the happiest woman alive. I genuinely never ever, in a zillion years, expected nearly enough love for this story to warrant a Gordon/Rachel ship name! So thank you very much, lovely **L****exie**, and hooray for **Gorchel**!_

**Chapter Nineteen - The Call-Out**

It had only been four days since Rachel and Gordon had discovered that they were going to be parents, but since that time Rachel hadn't been left alone for a moment. Occasionally it was Mrs Tracy trying to fatten her up even further or cross-examining her with questions about her childhood, youth, marriage and career. Sometimes it was Mr Tracy suddenly finding himself in the same room as her and shuffling away awkwardly because he didn't quite know what to say to her. More often than not, however, it was just Gordon wanting to hold her hand constantly because it was there and he wanted to feel close to her. Although she wasn't exactly complaining about the situation, she hadn't had a minute to herself unless she locked herself in the bathroom. She was starting to feel suffocated already.

On the fifth night she couldn't take any more and insisted that Gordon sleep in his own room just so she could have a bed to herself for one night and not have to make conversation with anyone. She was exhausted and overwhelmed, and she knew that if she had to be in the constant presence of another human being without a break for much longer she was at a very severe risk of spontaneous combustion. After several years of enjoying her own company, she wasn't used to being in the same room as so many other people so constantly. A few days with a friend, or Mark inviting himself over most nights, were one thing. Being subjected to the noise levels and the omnipresence of the Tracy family was... well. It was quite another. Especially to the uninitiated.

After finishing reading a book she'd brought to read on the plane, she decided that she was thirsty and so, ever so quietly, so as not to be seen, she attempted to make her way to the kitchen for a cold drink and get back without being seen. It was a regular Mission: Impossible type scenario. She was sure it had probably even been the basis for one of the spin-off films that her mother had forced her to sit through as a child.

She had got halfway down the corridor to the lounge when she saw Tin-Tin walking towards her. Her heart sank a little. She definitely liked Tin-Tin, that wasn't the problem - she had just hoped to have remained unnoticed through her entire adventure. No, she definitely didn't have a problem with Tin-Tin. Tin-Tin was intelligent and funny and she had absolutely no embarrassment level, she didn't care what she said or did - and she definitely didn't care what she wore by the pool. Rachel had inadvertently caught glimpses of parts of Tin-Tin's body that not even her gynaecologist needed to see. No wonder Scott's eyes were always out on stalks every time she wandered past in one of her fetching swimsuits. Tin-Tin waved at Rachel and Rachel grinned at her, holding her index finger to her lips so as Tin-Tin wouldn't alert the rest of the house to the fact Rachel was out of bed. Tin-Tin nodded her understanding and skipped towards her.

"I'm sneaking out for a drink," Rachel whispered.

"I'm sneaking out for a snack," Tin-Tin answered. Rachel grinned.

"You're a woman after my own heart. Let's sneak together," she suggested. Tin-Tin nodded and they turned to head to the kitchen, before they heard Gordon's voice coming from his bedroom. Rachel frowned and looked at Tin-Tin.

"Oh he's probably talking to Alan. They've not spoken for a few days and Gordon probably wanted to tell him the news himself," Tin-Tin whispered. They both forgot their thirst and hunger for a moment as they tiptoed towards Gordon's door, which had been left ajar, and listened in.

"It's due sometime early next year. You should've seen Dad's face, Al, it was hilarious. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack! And Grandma, she didn't even blink, she just put her hand down the couch, pulled out a knitting pattern and she's almost finished a sweater already!" they heard Gordon say. Rachel heard someone else laugh, and she presumed it was Gordon's brother.

"So, wow, that's... that's a pretty big deal," Alan commented. Gordon let out a murmur of agreement.

"Yeah, I guess it is a pretty big deal," he answered. Rachel smiled softly to herself. "I mean, Tracy kids aren't really a big deal, Dad had five of us to bring up on his own. And they're just the five he knows about! Paternity is in the Tracy blood. I'll be a great dad. I guess. I hope so. Uh... I mean it's not the same as a cat or a dog or anything, I guess. I dunno. It'll be different," he decided, not too sure what he'd just said and hoping that Alan hadn't noticed the fact that Gordon had just said a lot of words that made no sense whatsoever. Luckily, Alan wasn't really listening, he was only half-listening to the conversation as it was, devoting the other half of his efforts to a ridiculously difficult level of Candy Crush Saga 9.

"Well, is it gonna be a girl or a boy?" Alan asked, finally.

"It's only a few weeks old, Al, it's barely even a baby!" Gordon pointed out. Rachel had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing aloud and she felt Tin-Tin squeeze her hand as she also stifled a giggle.

"So... this Rachel. Is she like... are you like... are you actually her boyfriend now?" Alan asked. Gordon let out a snort of derision and Rachel frowned quizzically.

"No, I'm not her boyfriend! You have boyfriends when you're like twelve. I'm her man," he answered, glibly. Rachel and Tin-Tin both gasped and clutched their hands to their chests. They bit their lower lips as they looked at each other, both completely overwhelmed by his own inimitable clumsy brand of sentiment.

"That's adorable," Tin-Tin mouthed. Rachel nodded, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

"Besides, she's like seventy - she's way too old to be my girlfriend," he added, a little loudly. Rachel's back straightened indignantly. "Will you two stop listening in to my private phone call?" he demanded, walking over to the door and sliding it open. Rachel and Tin-Tin looked at him guiltily.

"We weren't," Rachel began, guiltily. Gordon looked at her disbelievingly.

"No, we were just looking for, umm..." Tin-Tin agreed, flustering quickly. Rachel rolled her eyes - she had expected more from her new friend. She had at least expected her to attempt to think of a reasonable excuse for their violation of Gordon's privacy! She had to think of something herself to distract attention from themselves, and fast.

"You're my man?" she suddenly asked, her face spreading into an uncontrollable grin and catching him entirely off-guard. Gordon blushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I... uhm... Are you gonna come in and meet Alan or what?" he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the room. "Alan, this is the mother of my child. Rach, this is the other brother."

"It's nice to meet you, Alan, I've heard a lot about you," Rachel began, smiling politely.

"Hey, Rachel. Likewise," he answered. Rachel took a moment to look at the platinum-blond, blue-eyed man on the screen in front of her. He didn't really look like any of his brothers apart from having the same colouring as John. She wondered if he was adopted, and then instantly dismissed the idea. After all - why would anyone want to adopt a child after having four already? "Gordon's told me I'm going to be an uncle," he added. She paused for a moment, unsure of exactly how to answer him.

"Yes, I... I suppose you will be, I hadn't quite thought of that. Congratulations," she finally replied.

"Thank you. I guess it's a pretty big responsibility, being an uncle, I've never been one before," he told her. She blinked twice, furrowing her brow briefly before replying.

"No. No, neither have I. But I'm sure you'll manage," she told him, before turning to Gordon. "Are there any more?" she asked, a little worried.

"None that we're aware of," Gordon answered, shaking his head. "We aren't even too sure of him," he added, pointing a thumb to the screen. Rachel giggled and then couldn't help but laugh harder when she saw Alan's disgruntled pout on the screen before her.

"Well, I've got stuff to do. It was, uhm... nice to meet you, Alan," she told him, not really sure if she meant it. She trotted out of the room and burst into fits of laughter with Tin-Tin before they both decided to do some significant damage to Mrs Tracy's homemade lemonade and a large trifle.

The following afternoon, Gordon and Rachel were lying on the beach, as far away from the main house as they could get. It was another glorious day, and Rachel wasn't sure if she could get used to such amazing weather on a day to day basis. She wondered if it ever got cold, or if it drizzled constantly for months on end like it did in England during Spring and whatever it was that seemed to pass for Summer. It was altogether alien for an English person to be in a climate that they couldn't complain about. It was like missing an old friend.

"Are you happy?" Rachel asked suddenly, looking up at the clouds as she lay on the sand, her head rested on Gordon's stomach. He stroked her hair absentmindedly.

"Define 'happy'," Gordon answered. She smiled, propped herself up on one arm and raised the other, before bringing her fist up towards her shoulder, her elbow hovering dangerously close to his groin.

"A simple 'yes' or 'no' would be fine, and I would urge you to think carefully before you respond," she warned him, her eyes glinting mischievously. He gulped.

"In that case, baby, I am delirious," he answered, hastily. She chuckled and settled back down.

"Good boy."

"Seriously though, why wouldn't I be happy?" he asked, winding strands of her hair around his fingers in a casual yet vain attempt to create ringlets.

"It's just all a bit sudden, isn't it?" she asked, doubtfully. "I mean it is for me, I don't know about you."

"It is a little sudden," he agreed. "But sometimes that's just how things are. I'm not sorry. Are you?"

"I... I think I would've liked for it to be just the two of us. Especially because it's so soon. We're still not officially... y'know. Together. Not that I'm saying we should be, but... I mean... It's only been a few months," she reminded him. He nodded.

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he replied. "Say, if it's a girl, can we call her Ariel?" he asked, changing the subject ever so slightly to avoid more conversation over their own relationship. "I sorta always kinda thought... y'know... if I had a daughter, I'd call her Ariel."

"Ariel? Why would I name my daughter after a brand of detergent?" Rachel asked, frowning. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Don't be stupid. The Little Mermaid!" he explained. Rachel rolled her eyes. "She's got red hair and everything! It's a sign!" Rachel let out an exasperated groan of protest.

"I am not naming my daughter Ariel. She'll still have to go to school. The bullying that poor ginger child will have to face, the least I can do is give her the name of a normal human being!" she insisted.

"We could get her private tutors," Gordon suggested. Rachel shook her head vigorously.

"No way."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I'm not having my child be a pampered rich kid," Rachel told him, scornfully.

"There's nothing wrong with being a pampered rich kid," Gordon told her. She grinned.

"Anyway, I might be having a boy. Don't tell me you've got an equally ridiculous suggestion for a boy's name?" she asked.

"Eric is not a ridiculous name," he replied, loftily. Rachel let out a horrified gasp.

"For God's sake!" she moaned. "Do your family have a special propensity for coming up with ridiculous names for their children?"

"I've got two brothers called John and Alan, they're really ordinary names!" Gordon protested. "My dad's called Jeff!"

"Yes but you've got a Virgil, that instantly cancels everything else out," she argued. "And you're a Gordon. Mark says that nobody in real life is called Gordon and he's even older than I am so I can't argue with him."

"Well, I got news for you and your pal, ma'am - it's real life and I'm called Gordon. Besides, I didn't think you minded it so much. You certainly seem to shout it loud enough," he commented raising both eyebrows as his eyes gleamed wickedly. She giggled.

"Call me ma'am again, that was really hot."

"You're not in one of those weird pregnant constantly horny moods are you?" he asked, warily. She shook her head.

"No, not at all. Just a weird being with you constantly horny mood," she answered with a dirty chuckle. He grinned.

"Well you're only human, I guess," he replied, nonchalantly. She gasped in mock horror.

"Cheeky sod!" she exclaimed, sitting up and poking him in the ribs. He squealed in protest.

"NO! Get off!" he shrieked.

"I can't hear you!" she teased, tickling him harder and giggling helplessly as she watched him struggle and squirm his way out of her grasp. He grabbed her by her arms and, with considerable effort, managed to release her grip on him. She fell back onto the sand, pulling him down with her and kissing him deeply as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I really like kissing you," he told her. She smiled.

"I really like you kissing me," she answered, kissing him softly. Just as things were actually starting to get interesting, they were interrupted by a shrill bleeping sound.

"Ah, shit!" he groaned, pulling away from her, sitting up and pressing a button on his wristwatch.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

"I gotta run back to the house. Don't move unless the tide comes in," he told her. Her frown deepened. She hoped he'd be back before then. She couldn't swim, for one thing.

"Why?"

"Callout at work," he explained. He held up his wrist communicator. "If one of us is away from the house we can always be contacted if it's an emergency," he explained.

"It sounds like a very conscientious security company," she told him. "I thought it'd be more coffee and doughnuts in front of a bunch of CCTV screens."

"Ah, we're a bit more badass than that," he told her with a wink. "Hold tight."

Rachel sat and waited patiently for what felt like an eternity, gazing out at the waves which were strangely addictive both to the eyes and ears. Everything seemed to be calm and safe when she looked at the sea. It was the thing she hated most about England - although it was an island, she hadn't really seen much of the country's coastline. Growing up in Nottingham, which was more than sixty miles away from the nearest beach meant that the first time she had really spent any time near the sea was when Danny had taken her for a long weekend to Clacton-on-Sea in Essex. They'd got into a fight at the local pub - or rather, Danny had - and she had ended up in hospital for three days with a huge gash on her arm from where a woman had attacked her with a glass bottle only moments before adding insult to injury by throwing up on Rachel's designer Italian shoes and then collapsing into a pool of her own vomit.

She screwed her face up in distaste, having no idea where on earth that memory decided to spring from. With a wry grin, she reminded herself that although her time with Danny had been traumatic, at least she had never been bored. As she lay back on the sand and closed her eyes, allowing the gentle lapping of the waves and warmth of the sun to lull her into a much-needed nap, she couldn't help but think that her time with Gordon had been jointly the least boring and least traumatic of all her relationship experiences. Possibly with the exception of meeting his grandmother. She still hadn't quite made her mind up about Mrs Tracy. Or, indeed, little old ladies in general.

Eventually Tin-Tin strolled over to Rachel with a picnic basket in her hand. Jeff had instructed her to get Rachel out of the way as quickly and plausibly as possible, much the same way as she had got Tim Casey out of the way a few months earlier. Gordon had made some sort of comment about Tin-Tin showing Rachel her water mamba and if that happened he wanted photographs, but he retracted his statement as he visibly withered under Scott's glare.

"Rachel," she called. Rachel didn't hear at first, she was almost asleep. "Rachel!" she repeated, crouching beside her and shaking her by the shoulder. Rachel let out a shriek of surprise. "Did I scare you?" she asked, giggling.

"Sorry, I must've dozed off. I'm getting old!" Rachel joked, sitting up. "A little mid-morning snack?" she asked, pointing to the picnic basket.

"No, it's lunch. Gordon's had to go out, so I thought we could go for a walk to the other side of the Island and have a picnic. I've packed everything. You'll love it," Tin-Tin answered, holding the basket up and wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially. "There's cake, and sandwiches, and some fresh guava juice, and - oh! Mrs Tracy has rustled up some chicken pieces with three different seasonings - Chinese, lemon pepper and barbecue," she declared, lifting the lid of the basket and briefly examining the contents.

"I'm sorry, but did you say 'barbecue chicken'?" Rachel asked, now paying strict attention. Tin-Tin grinned and nodded.

"Is that your favourite?" she asked. Rachel shook her head.

"Mine? No - but the baby is completely addicted to it!" she joked. Tin-Tin chuckled. "Lead the way!" Rachel declared, standing up and dusting the sand from her legs.

The mission that the Tracy brothers had been called out on was routine enough, and Gordon was sure that they'd all be home within a couple of hours. Or at least he hoped so. Rachel wouldn't even miss him. Or at least he hoped not. There had been a small earthquake in Fiji, a large finance company's national headquarters had disappeared under a pile of rubble and there were people still trapped underneath. Rescue operations had exhausted their own resources, which had led to one team also being trapped, and International Rescue had now been called upon to rescue the rescuers.

Gordon and Virgil had been almost completely silent during the journey over. Virgil's attempts to speak to Gordon about Rachel's visit had either been met with one-word stonewalling or he'd just ignored him outright. All Gordon wanted to do was to get the rescue over with and get back to the Island, and Virgil wanted nothing more than to not be in the same vehicle as his unnaturally quiet younger brother.

"Just... wait. Just one thing, before we go. Please," Virgil insisted, unable to contain his curiosity any longer and grabbing Gordon by the arm. Gordon turned around and looked at him.

"What?"

"Gordon. Buddy - are you _happy_?" Virgil asked, his eyes full of concern. Gordon held his gaze for a moment before faltering.

"I... listen, we got a job to do out there, Virge. It's... it's different now. I'm not unhappy. It's just different," he answered, shaking his head. "I'm just... I don't want to screw things up with - y'know. With Rachel and... and everything," he admitted.

"You won't," Virgil promised him, clamping a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "We won't let you. That's what big brothers do. They get the best outta you, even if they've gotta kill you to get there," he told him with a wink and a grin. Gordon chuckled.

"C'mon, let's get these people back home," he decided, heading towards the entry hatch. "Ten bucks says we'll be flying home within the hour."

"You're on," Virgil agreed.

Unfortunately for Virgil, Gordon was about to learn the hard way that where rescues were concerned, there was never a safe bet to be made...


	20. Chapter Twenty: The Break-Up

_**A/N:** First of all, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed Chapter 19. I'm so grateful that you all still remember the story and still want to read it after such a huge wait, and I'm even more sorry for not coming back sooner. _

_Secondly, prepare yourself for some angst and some major "Oh no you DI-INT!" moments._

**Chapter Twenty: The Break-Up**

As if the weather gods and the gods of Fortune were listening in on Gordon and Virgil's conversation and just wanted to see how much they could make their day more difficult, no sooner had they set foot onto terra firma than the heavens completely opened and a deluge of water poured on them. They felt as though they were taking a hot shower with all their clothes on, only more uncomfortable and without the bathroom radio to sing along to.

"Something tells me you're gonna owe me ten bucks!" Virgil shouted above the noise of the rain. Gordon grinned back at him.

"You can take it from my allowance," he joked.

"Hey, can we please quit bitching and get these people out of here? If the landslide is as bad as it looks, they're not gonna have much air with this rain coming through," Scott interrupted, giving them both The Look.

"Jesus, Scott, we only just got here, give us a break," Gordon grumbled.

"I'll give you a break when we've done our job," his elder brother replied, grimly. Gordon sighed. He wished he had Scott's ability to always go from Zero to Hero in less time than it takes to say 'Calling International Rescue'. Which, he supposed, was still lengthy enough of a phrase to render his transformation non-instantaneous. At that moment Gordon couldn't even remember where he was. The only thing, the solitary thing on his mind was getting back to the Island before Rachel noticed he was missing.

"FAB," Gordon replied, wearily.

The rain continued to pour, heavily and without letup, for what felt like an eternity. The brothers could barely remain upright as the rain continued to saturate the already-sodden earth. Before long they were wading through a quagmire, frustrated by their attempts to even get a reliable foothold in order to help people escape.

It wasn't long before the rain was so persistent and heavy that the boys could barely see what they were doing. The rain was hot and the air was sticky and humid, which made it difficult for them to breathe.

"How the fuck do we do this?!" Gordon yelled to Virgil.

"Language!" Virgil chided him. Gordon rolled his eyes. "We just go as carefully as we can, all right? Let's try and move some of this rubble, see if we can even see anyone," he decided.

The operation to remove the rubble was very delicate and precarious and not helped by the torrent of rain. They could barely grip the pieces of debris of the building without them slipping from their fingers.

"This is ridiculous," Scott grumbled, swearing as a piece of rubble slipped out of his hands and gashed his palm. "Jesus fucking wept!" he growled, breathing in deeply to stop himself from crying out, and getting a mouth and noseful of rain. It was almost how he imagined being water boarded felt like. His eyes and his ears were all full of constant rain. He felt like calling the rescue off. Their sensory equipment couldn't even detect any life under all the rubble. Anyone who may have survived the initial impact must have suffocated or drowned by now. It was hopeless. Scott could barely move one foot in front of the other any more and Gordon had already fallen on his ass three times in the mud. All three were exhausted and drenched and aching and they weren't getting anywhere.

"Guys?" he shouted. "I think we're gonna have to call it. This is too risky."

"C'mon, just five more minutes. Even if we can get to one person, it'll be worth it," Virgil insisted. Scott smiled. Just like Virgil. Whatever the risk, if it carried the slimmest of chances of saving a life, he was for it.

"Five minutes," he relented. "I don't want you two getting hurt," he added. Now Virgil smiled. Just like Scott. Whatever the risk, no matter who was in trouble, he was still their big brother, always ready to save their asses before his own.

"Move this with me," Gordon shouted to Virgil, grabbing one side of what had once been part of a concrete block wall. Virgil nodded and they both slipped, slid and grunted with exertion as they tried to move the block. "Is anyone down there?" Gordon yelled. There was no response. "HELLO!" he shouted. "We're International Rescue. We're gonna get you out of here!" he called.

"Help me!" a faint voice called. Adrenaline kicked in and the boys all scrambled to move as much debris as they could.

"Is anyone else down there?" Scott called.

"Help me!" they replied.

"Hello! We're going to help you. Is there anyone else alive down there?" Scott shouted, loudly enough to be heard but his tone calm and determined.

"No, they're all dead," the voice replied. Scott, Virgil and Gordon all exchanged a look of pain. They hated the days like these.

"We're gonna get you out," Virgil shouted reassuringly. He turned to make eye contact with Scott as he needed to tell him that there was still some debris to be moved, but he twisted his body too far and he slipped in the mud. Debris and rubble collapsed into the hole behind him and they all heard the trapped person's final cry of anguish and then a horrible, sickening silence as they realised that the death toll from the accident was now officially one hundred percent.

In the same moment, Virgil let out a howl of pain as a concrete block fell onto his shin and knocked him face forward onto the wreckage. Scott and Gordon both heard the snapping of bone and their blood ran cold.

"Jesus, Virgil," Scott muttered, using strength he didn't know he had to pull the concrete block away and both he and Gordon, as carefully as possible, carried him back to Thunderbird Two. Virgil had passed out with the pain and fortunately there was a small medical supply in Thunderbird Two that contained bandages, sedatives and painkillers. He came round long enough to be handed a glass of water, two extra-strength sedatives and a painkiller - a combination Scott used during his frequent bouts of insomnia and which he guaranteed would send an elephant to sleep for a few hours - and then promptly slept soundly whilst Scott and Gordon tended to his wounds and splinted his leg as best as they could.

Scott radioed in with a full report of what had happened and the sickbay was made available immediately. All they needed was to go home and concentrate on Virgil. That was all. There were no words of frustration, no comments about their failed mission, no pleas for excuses. All Jeff cared about was all three of his sons coming home safely, and Virgil getting the best care available.

As they flew home, they kept communications open between them. It was mostly silent, although Scott could hear Gordon murmuring and swearing to himself. He often talked things out to himself when his thoughts got too big and too loud to be kept silent inside his brain. Gordon hated flying Thunderbird Two, he did it as infrequently as he could possibly get away with. He just hated flying. Period. If men had meant to fly, they'd have had wings. They were meant to swim, that's why their skin was waterproof. No other explanation would satisfy him.

"How exactly are we gonna explain this away?" Gordon asked, suddenly.

"Explain what away?" Scott asked, jumping slightly at the volume at which the silence had been broken.

"I know Rachel's blonde, but she isn't exactly a dumbass," Gordon pointed out. "How do we explain this to her?"

"We don't need to," Scott answered, firmly.

"You think she won't ask? You think 'Oh my god! What happened to you?!' is an unnatural response when she sees Virgil in that state?" he asked, showing off a frighteningly impressive female English accent. "It's not even like it's something he can sleep off, he's got a busted leg and his face looks like he's gone into battle with a cheese grater and lost!"

"He doesn't look that bad. Let's just get Virgil back home and we'll work something out later. She's going home in a few days, she probably won't even see him," Scott reassured him.

"What if she does? I gotta keep on lying to her? That isn't fair," Gordon pointed out. Scott grunted scornfully.

"Not fair? What are you, twelve?" he asked. Gordon wasn't put off his argument.

"Scott. What if it'd been me?" he inquired, seriously. Scott took a breath. One brother in pain was more than enough for him to contemplate. He didn't need to think about any more.

"It wasn't you," he answered, quietly. Gordon still wasn't put off.

"What if it had been? What if it had been me and what if I'd not come home?" he asked.

"Gordon, don't do this to yourself," Scott answered in a soothing voice. Gordon shook his head, getting more panicky.

"I can't have a wife and a child that I leave behind every time I go on a rescue. Y'know what I thought about the whole time? Rachel. How she'd feel if anything went wrong. How quickly we could get the rescue done so that I could get home before she suspected anything. Because I wasn't concentrating, too busy thinking about her, our brother gets injured and we lose the entire rescue operation in the process. I'm not fit to do this. Not while she's in my life. Not while I'm worrying about two more people. Worrying about the four of you and how Dad would react if anything happened is bad enough while I'm on a rescue. I can't take two more," he insisted.

"Gordon, this isn't about you," Scott began.

"If I'd done my job properly, Virgil wouldn't have gotten hurt. The people would have lived. I can't be trusted," Gordon retorted.

"Don't. This isn't your fault. It was an accident. We can't plan for them. The conditions were impossible to work in. We're just people, we can't fight against weather like that. Our machinery is the best available but it can't defy the basic laws of science. Brains will tell you that. Virgil's lucky he got away with a busted leg," Scott reasoned.

"She's gotta go home. She's gotta go home and not come back. I gotta break up with her," Gordon decided, almost talking to himself.

"I thought you weren't together?" Scott reminded him.

"Fine, then I gotta piss her off enough so she won't want to see me again. I can't let her down gently, she's too nice, she'd forgive me," Gordon explained.

"How the hell are you gonna do that?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Hey, if there's one thing I know, it's how to piss people off," Gordon pointed out. Scott let out a breath of laughter in agreement.

"It's a gift," he acknowledged. The rest of the journey was conducted in absolute silence. Virgil slept through a combination of the sedatives and the shock. Gordon forced himself to get into the right frame of mind to do the one thing he didn't want to do - break Rachel's heart. Scott silently brooded about how he could fix everything and make the ending happy for everyone, and chastised himself for being incapable of doing either of those things.

When they arrived home, eight hours after they had left, Gordon and Scott were so worried about Virgil and so devastated from their inability to rescue those people that they sat in Jeff's private study for a full hour, somehow trying to make sense of what had happened, to stop the cries of pain from ringing in their ears, to justify their own guilt to themselves. The full power and ability of International Rescue had been rendered impotent by the mother of all rainstorms and there had been nothing either of them could do to stop it. These were the days that they just wanted to bury their heads in their hands and weep. But they had to stay strong. They had to keep going. Tomorrow was another day. Possibly another rescue. People still needed them. While they were still needed, they couldn't break. Not yet.

Rachel had had to come back to the Villa for a nap, there was no way around it. Tin-Tin explained that they were expecting a few deliveries that afternoon so if she heard any low flying planes it was probably the mail plane and the food supply plane dropping by. Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue after their five-hour cave expedition and hour-long lunch marathon. She simply nodded and fell into bed where she slept so deeply she didn't even hear the boys returning.

She woke up at midnight to a soft tapping on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, sleepily.

"It's me," Gordon called back.

"You don't need to knock," she answered, turning over and closing her eyes again. She heard the door open but didn't hear him walk over to the bed.

"Rach, I need you to wake up for a minute," he began, seriously. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"What's wrong? You were ages!" she told him. He nodded.

"I'm sorry. I actually wasn't away for too long, but uhm..." he broke off, trying to think of a feasible excuse to explain Virgil's accident. "Virgil went for a run around the Island and-"

"_Virgil_ went for a run?!" Rachel repeated, confused. "That doesn't seem like him, he's more of a chilling by the pool with a cocktail guy," she told him. Gordon grinned.

"He has hidden depths. Anyway. He went for a run and slipped when he got to the rocks. He's broken his leg and his face is a bit smashed in," he explained. Rachel gasped in shock.

"Oh my god, is he okay?" she asked, concerned. Gordon nodded.

"He'll be fine, he's just gonna rest up in bed for a couple days and then he'll be on crutches for a few weeks," he explained. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. Rachel squeezed his arm comfortingly, and frowned slightly as he tensed under her touch. "Don't," he insisted, taking a step away from her. She swallowed, unsure as to why her eyes had suddenly filled with tears and putting it down to hormones.

"Sorry," she muttered. He stared solidly at the floor for ten seconds, the silence both deafening and tangible.

"I'm... uh... I'm gonna sleep in my room again tonight. Give you some space," he told her, his voice throaty with emotion. She nodded.

"Sure, if you like," she replied. "Is... are you... is everything okay?" she asked, so quietly she hoped he wouldn't hear her. He seemed to be about a moment away from losing his temper.

"No," he answered, sharply. "It isn't."

"Is there anything I can do?" she offered, gently. He shook his head.

"No."

"Right," she replied. They stood awkwardly for a few moments, each waiting for the other to say something profound.

"I'm going to bed," he declared.

"Goodnight, then," she answered, not sure what else she could possibly say. He was clearly upset over what had happened to Virgil.

"Yeah."

"Sleep well."

"Sure," he mumbled with an ungainly shrug. He turned away from her and headed to his room and Rachel did nothing to try and change his mind. He looked like hell. He was probably just overtired and upset. Maybe he needed the space too.

She hated the idea that she was making excuses for him. But she was stuck on an island the best part of twelve thousand miles from home and had no way of escape. Two whole weeks with Gordon's family had been a terrible idea. It had been just over one week and she was missing London, she was missing Mark. She hadn't called him to tell him she was pregnant because she wanted to tell him face to face. She wanted to see his facial expression when he found out he was going to be an honorary uncle, and hear his deep, rumbling, hearty laugh when he realised that his best friend would be teetotal for the next few months.

_'If only Mark was here now,'_ she thought. He'd know what to do. He'd at least be someone she could completely relax with. The Tracys were all so kind to her, but the fact remained that they were still strangers. She didn't know how well her own humour translated to them, or how well their humour translated to her, or if they liked her or they were just being polite for Gordon's sake.

Stretching and yawning loudly, Rachel decided that there was little else to do aside from just getting back into bed and attempting to sleep. The next day things might have brightened up. Gordon may have slept well and be in a more amiable mood - or at least she hoped he would. For his sake, Rachel hoped that she would also be in a better mood the following morning. She wasn't ungrateful and she wasn't miserable. She had just reached the point she reached during every holiday she had ever been on - two or three days before she was due to go home, she started longing for her own bed again, her own kitchen, being able to cook in her own kitchen without anyone declaring they would do everything for her, as though being independent was an unpleasant personality trait that she needed to be fussed out of. She missed the noise of London and how anonymous she was there. Her time on Tracy Island made her feel as though she had gone from being a microorganism in a large pond to being the main feature in a fish tank. It was altogether unnerving.

Her phone bleeped just as she got into bed and she smiled when she saw it was a message from Mark. It was as though he had a sixth sense about her.

_"I haven't heard from you in over a week. You are either having a great time that's too dirty to tell me about or you are miserable and want to come home. Which is it?"_

She smiled ruefully and replied.

_"I'm being ruined rotten and fed CONSTANTLY. I've probably put 3st on in 10 days. They're so nice. It's exhausting. I'm a selfish hormonal bitch who just wants to come home. They're lovely, they're just so... overwhelming."_

Almost before she had time to put her phone back down, Mark had replied.

_"I'm putting money into your account for a flight home. Get your arse back here. I need you. Make an excuse. Tell them my grandmother died."_

She smiled and let out a sigh of relief. She would normally have argued with him and refused to let him pay, but she was tired and she felt awkward and she really wanted to go home and hear silence again.

_"That'll be the seventh time I've used the grandmother line, how many grandmothers have you got?! See you tomorrow. Thanks."_

She switched her phone off and grinned. She didn't know why Mark had been her friend for so long, but she was so grateful that he was. He was like her big brother and her best friend and her guardian angel all rolled into one. _'Everyone should have a Mark'_, she thought to herself happily as she dozed off into the most comfortable and restful sleep she'd had since she arrived on Tracy Island.

The next morning Rachel got ready and packed as quickly as she could before racing into the living room to deliver her news. She was surprised that everyone seemed genuinely upset that she wasn't going to see out the remainder of the week with them, rather than just being carefully polite about it. They all seemed terribly upset for Mark and his dead grandmother. In reality Mark's maternal grandmother was very much alive and well, living in an over 60s retirement home for ex-pats in Portugal. His paternal grandmother had died just before his parents divorced when he was eight, so she was always the grandmother he used the 'grandmother line' over. After all, his grandmother _had_ died. He just neglected to say it had been thirty-five years ago.

Mrs Tracy casually added an extra two sausages and fried egg to Rachel's already laden breakfast plate and, noting Rachel's confused expression, explained that she would be going on a long journey and now had her great-grandchild to take care of.

"I'll be damned if I'm gonna let any great-grandchild of mine go hungry!" she declared. It had only been ten days and already Rachel knew not to argue with Mrs Tracy, so she just nodded and ate. It was the easiest way.

Tin-Tin had offered to take her to the airport after breakfast but Scott had decided that he should go instead. His excuse was that had been a while since he had been to Hawaii but, unbeknown to anyone else, he had been looking online for something for Tin-Tin to celebrate their first official anniversary and had found an antique jewellery store in Waikiki that sold diamond necklaces and pendants dating as far back as the 1920s. He wouldn't make a big deal of it, of course. Big statements weren't really Scott's style. It wasn't so much that he wanted it to be a surprise, he just didn't want to make a big deal of the fact he'd actually put any time or effort into remembering the day they'd finally decided to stop messing around and make a go of things together.

Tin-Tin hugged Rachel so tightly that Rachel's face turned red. She promised that she'd call when she got home, and Tin-Tin insisted that she'd come over to stay in a few months to help get things in and decorate for the baby's arrival - together with a comment about her not having visited Oxford Street in far too long and her credit card needing a workout. Rachel found herself nodding and agreeing, and even saying she would really look forward to it, despite the fact she hated shopping. She couldn't help but smile at Tin-Tin's genuine enthusiasm and complete warmth. It wasn't an act, she had no angle to work from, she was just an honest, sweet, _real_ person. There were too few of those sort of people in Rachel's life and she determined to keep in touch with Tin-Tin no matter what happened with her and Gordon. She genuinely had no idea what that would be. Gordon hadn't even spoken to her that morning.

"You're leaving?" she heard a voice behind her say. There was no protest in his voice. Rachel turned round to face him.

"I couldn't find you," she explained, both knowing and neither of them mentioning that she actually hadn't tried to look for him. "Mark's grandmother's died. He wanted me to come home," she added, not feeling especially comfortable with lying to him. She didn't think he'd actually care if she'd just been honest and said that being stuck on an island with him and his family was freaking her out and she wanted to go home. He nodded.

"Send him my best," he answered, politely. She blinked once. _'Send him my best'_? That was it?

"Do I at least get a hug?" she asked. She didn't know why she felt she needed to ask. He dutifully, and Rachel could see for herself that 'dutifully' was actually the correct adverb to use at that juncture, opened his arms and enveloped her in a brief and strangely polite hug.

"Fly safe," he mumbled.

"Shall I call you when I get home?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair gently. He shrugged and pulled away from her.

"If you like," he answered, disinterested.

"Well I don't have to, it'll save me a job if I don't call you," she pointed out, frowning.

"So don't call me," he retorted.

"...Okay," she finally replied, her frown deepening. She'd seen this attitude before. She didn't like it then and she liked it even less now. "I won't."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah."

She paused, not understanding why he had to make this so difficult.

"You don't want me to call?" she asked, bluntly.

"Makes no difference to me, honey," he replied with a shrug.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, quietly. He looked at her, his eyes hard and cold.

"Doing what?" he shot back at her. She set her shoulder back and sighed. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Are you pushing me away?"

"Yep."

"Why?" she asked. He could see the tears forming in her eyes but couldn't do anything to stop them. He had to say it.

"Because I can."

_'You asshole. Even _I_ hate you right now'_ he thought to himself, his stomach churning as he fought to finish his act without breaking down and taking her in his arms and kissing her to within an inch of her life and begging for her to stay.

Rachel steeled herself for a moment. "Okay. You do this. You make yourself miserable. I'm going home. Maybe I'll talk to you when you decide to grow the fuck up."

"Maybe when I've done that, I won't want to talk to you," he replied, feeling the bile rise up his throat as he spoke. She gasped in horror.

"Wow, you've really just gone there, haven't you?" she asked, unsure whether to laugh or hit him. "Is this it, then? Is this actually happening?"

"You told me I could bail whenever I wanted. I'm bailing," he told her, looking away from her. She swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're right, I did tell you that. And of course you can bail whenever you like, that's fine. I just didn't think you'd be quite such an arsehole about it," she answered. He shrugged.

"You want me to pretend like I'm sorry to make it easier?" he asked, cringing inside.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" she asked. He shrugged but didn't reply. "I'm getting on the plane now, and when I leave you won't see me again. Ever. Which is fine. But you won't see your child. And neither will your family. Are you sure you're fine with that?"

"Who's to say it's mine anyway?" he asked. He could hear her growling and he didn't blame her. He wished she'd just punch him and be done with it. He wished somebody would punch him. He deserved it.

"Do not even begin to start that with me. I told you it's yours. It's yours," she insisted. He let out a snort of derision.

"C'mon, Rach, you come into contact with men all the time in London. Who's to say I'm the only one you've been with since last year?" he asked. She let out a cry of indignation.

"Who's to say you're the only one? _I_ am. I'm _telling_ you. There is nobody else. There was nobody before you for quite some time, and since you there has been nobody else. I don't want anybody else, I don't need anybody else. But I want you to trust me - and if you can't or won't do that, then perhaps this is for the best," she finally reasoned. He nodded.

"Then it's for the best. Because I don't trust you."

"Why? What's ever made you think I can't be trusted?" she asked, not unreasonably.

"You think you're the first girl to come along with a pregnancy story to either me or one of my brothers just to get money out of us?" he demanded.

"I told you I'm not interested in your money. I never have been," she reminded him.

"No? You didn't say no to a weekend in Mayfair though."

"Nobody would say no to a weekend in Mayfair, Gordon. Besides, if you remember, I did say no. You insisted. You wanted to see me. You've pushed and pushed for this, and now you've got what you want, you realise you don't want it. Now you're just pussying out of actually having to be a man for a change so you're trying to turn this all round to being about me," she told him.

"Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," he retorted, scornfully.

"Fine. You have it your way. Let's face it, you've had everything else your way through this whole ridiculous debacle, and I am in no doubt you've had everything your own way throughout your very short yet extremely pampered life," she snapped.

"Yeah, that's me, just another spoiled rich kid," he agreed. _'Please God, if you're there, make this stop,'_ he prayed, silently.

"Y'know what - I'm beginning to think that that's really all there is about you," she finally decided.

"Maybe you're right," he answered.

"I wish I wasn't," she muttered.

"We all wish for shit," he finished, coldly.

Before Rachel even had time to talk herself out of it, or to consider exactly what she was doing, she had punched Gordon in the jaw so forcefully that he fell to the floor and sprawled out, legs akimbo, a small trail of blood trickling from his lower lip.

"I hope you and your right hand have a very happy life together," she snarled, turning away and storming towards the hangar.

Gordon didn't even attempt to get up for a few moments. He lay on the floor with his eyes closed, his entire world slowly collapsing around him, his chin throbbing. He had really screwed up this time. No matter how much he tried to reason that he had done it for the best, he had only succeeded in making Rachel and himself miserable. He dreaded to think what would happen now.

No matter how noble his intent had been, Rachel now justifiably hated him. Not only would he never see her again in an attempt to make things right, his stomach sank even further as he realised that even if he could do that, he would never be able to tell her the truth. He would never be able to tell her 'why'. For God's sake she was having his child. When he thought about it, he knew that the least she deserved was a 'why', and it was the one thing he couldn't give her.

He became aware of a shadow over him, someone was standing over him and he didn't even have the energy to open his eyes.

"I'm an asshole, you'd best just leave me here on the floor so I can crawl back under my rock with the rest of the invertebrates," he moaned.

"Rachel's got a pretty mean right hook," his father replied. Gordon nodded.

"She's a hell of a woman," he agreed. He finally opened his eyes and allowed his father to help him to his feet.

"You want a beer?" Jeff asked.

"Will it help?" Gordon inquired. Jeff pursed his lips and shrugged.

"No," he replied, honestly.

"Good. In that case, I'll have two."


End file.
